


To the Land That We Carved for a Home

by BlazeTheDemidragon



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream is not human lmao, Fantasy AU, Found Family Dynamics, Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, How Do I Tag, Hybrid Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Hybrids, L'Manberg War of Independence on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Multiple Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Platonic Cuddling, Raccoon Hybrid TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Tags May Change, Trans Male Floris | Fundy, Wilbur Soot is Floris | Fundy's Parent, god has cursed me for my ambition but he has to catch me first, i haven't been on this site in 3 years jesus christ, sort of a L'manberg origin story i guess??, they're kinda more like fey tbh, various headcannons in a trenchcoat disguised as a fanfiction basically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazeTheDemidragon/pseuds/BlazeTheDemidragon
Summary: It's a normal mid-spring day when Wilbur Soot steps outside of the van that serves as a home for him and his young child; Fundy, only to find a dirty, gremlin child trying to scam his kid into buying a dirty rabbit foot. After Wilbur takes in the thirteen-year-old Tommy Danger Kraken Innit, he finds himself responsible for two extra kids in addition to his own. Wilbur set out on this journey to play music and make something of himself. But before he has any hope of doing either of those things, he needs to make a home for his new family and defend them all from one unfair forest spirit who lords over these lands.also known as, i got bored and decided to write the Dream SMP as a found family/fantasy story of sorts. be patient with me, i haven't written fanfiction in many years :)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 10
Kudos: 109





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hello, welcome to what might become a shitstorm if things don't go to plan. just a friendly note for you all: this prologue is set in the past, the actual story will pick up after this tidbit, i just wanted to incorporate a techno-centric flashback to start with since he's one of my favorite characters and i understand him the most compared to everyone else. if all goes to plan, the prologue will actually make sense at some point! :) also, i wasn't joking when i said i haven't written fanfiction in many years, so bear with me. updates will come whenever i get things done.
> 
> also, the title comes from An Ode To L'manberg! definitely check the song out if you haven't yet :)

There was no such thing as green in the Nether.

Warped forests were the closest thing Technoblade had ever seen. Their cooler shades were much more noticable amidst the angry reds and warm browns. Zombie piglins had green marking the edges of their skin, but he was pretty sure that was rot and even if it wasn't, he didn't want to get close enough to find out. But this man—a man with large, gray wings—had a color on that Techno had never seen before. And he supposed it could be green.

He was wandering around the Crimson Forest, fighting off hoglins that came his way. He wore a golden helmet that caught Techno's eye as much as he tried to ignore it. He was whistling a merry tune, keeping a bag close by his side. He walked with purpose, but even Techno could see he was lost. He'd been watching the man walk in circles for hours now.

Techno figured he’d hit the three hour mark when the man finally stopped and sat underneath a large crimson mushroom, pulling a bit of bread out of his bag and nibbling on it. The man was talking to himself in the language of the Overworld, a tongue Techno knew better than his own at this point. He moved forward slightly from where he hid behind a large mound of netherrack. Then his hooves disturbed a few stones and they tumbled down towards the man. He looked up as Techno ducked behind the netherrack again, making sure he couldn’t be seen.

He counted for ten heartbeats before peaking around the rock again. The man had gone back to his bread but he now had a hand on the diamond sword that hung from his waist. His posture was relaxed but cautious. Impressive. Most of the people who came from the Overworld were afraid of the Nether and all its dangers. Yet this man didn’t seem very concerned with the constant threat of lava or hoglins snuffling for the younger crimson mushrooms.

Speaking of hoglins, the sounder he’d been tracking for dinner had wandered dangerously close to where the man sat under the large crimson mushroom. His back was turned to them and Techno doubted he could hear them under the normal sounds of the Nether. He watched as the hoglins came closer and closer to the unaware man. By the time the first hoglin had noticed the man and let out a displeased shriek, Techno had vaulted over the netherrack, drawn the golden sword from his inventory and slashed the beast's side.

Behind him, he heard the man utter a soft “Oh, fuck!” and scrambled back but Techno didn’t spare a glance behind him. The hoglin—a big boar—fixed its little eyes on him and screamed, lowering it’s head to charge. Techno nimbly stepped to the side and swiped again. He calculated he only had a few more minutes before the rest of the hoglins caught up to the boar. This one was larger than any of the others he’d faced in the past, but he was sure he could take it down, no problem.

They began a strange dance of sorts, with Techno dodging the charges and head tosses of the angry hoglin and exchanging swipes of his own with the golden sword he’d taken from a dead zombie piglin. The boar began to tire. It’s movements slowed, the hate in it’s little eyes dulled. Then, with one swift slice to the neck, Techno slit its throat and watched it fall over with one last tired grunt.

He turned towards the man, only to hear another hoglin shriek behind him. He attempted to move fast enough to attack, but before he could, a blur of the strange green color from before flew past him. The man had flared open his wings, feathers puffing up to make him look even bigger. He held the polished diamond sword in his hand. With a few well-placed swipes, the hoglins died one after another. When nothing else moved or made a shrieking noise, the man’s feathers slowly flattened again.

He folded his wings behind him once more and turned to face Techno, who tried to look as impassive as possible despite the pounding in his chest.

The man had a kind face. That was the first thing Techno noticed, alongside his tired eyes and the black overcoat the man wore over his green robes. His hair was light colored, as were his eyes and the bag at his side was made out of worn leather.

“Hello there, mate,” the man said. “Thanks for helping out back there. I appreciate it.”

Techno kept his sword out, but lowered the tip. He wasn’t exactly sure  _ why _ he’d decided to help the man to begin with. He didn’t know him. It wasn’t like he was another piglin or a creature of the Nether. There wasn’t really anything remarkable about him other than his wings and his strange clothes. But that wasn’t quite right either. Because though the man stood there, with his strange robes and light colored hair, it was the way he’d carried himself through a land that killed most who came from the Overworld. He wasn’t afraid. And Techno wanted to learn how to carry himself the same way.

“You’re welcome,” Techno mumbled.

It had been quite sometime since he’d spoken their language, but he hadn’t forgotten the words.

The man smiled. “Could I trouble you for a bit more?”

Techno inclined his head toward the man.

“I think I’m a bit lost, to be honest with you,” the man continued. “I was hoping you might know where my portal would be?”

“Why would I know where your portal is?” Techno said.

“Because I’m pretty sure you’ve been following me for a while. Unless those footsteps were someone else’s.”

Techno blinked. He’d thought he’d been being stealthy. How had the man noticed him? Gauging the smile that now graced the man’s face, the piglin hybrid deduced he’d made some sort of astonished expression.

“I know where your portal is,” he said begrudgingly.

“Can you take me there?”

“Perhaps.”

Techno kept his battered golden sword out, but didn’t raise it. He began to walk in the direction the man had originally come from, only looking back once when he didn’t hear footsteps behind him. He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you comin’ or what?”

The man’s smile broadened and he slipped his sword back into its scabbard at his hip, wrapping his left hand around the thick leather strap of his bag. “Sorry, thought you’d want something for your troubles.”

Techno shrugged. They left the Crimson Forest behind them, walking along the Nether Wastes side by side in silence. Techno’s head came up to the man’s shoulder, a fact that made the piglin hybrid weirdly smug though he couldn’t explain why. After they’d made a good amount of progress, the man spoke again.

“My name is Phil, by the way.”

“I’m Technoblade.”

“Technoblade,” Phil repeated slowly. “Pretty good name, mate.”

Techno blinked. “It’s alright,” he said after a while.

“Sorry if I’m talking too much, mate. I’ve got a son about your age who likes to talk a lot when I come home. He’ll be waiting for me when I finally get back. Hopefully.”

The piglin hybrid made a noncommittal grunt. He wasn’t accustomed to talking to people. Usually, when Overworlders came to the Nether, he kept away. Phil didn’t give him the same sort of unease the others did, but that didn’t mean talking to him didn’t make him uncomfortable.

When they crossed into the Warped Forest, Techno relaxed slightly. Warped Forests were safer than the other biomes, even if endermen liked to roam among the blue warped mushroom trees. Techno ducked underneath the cap of one of the giant warped mushrooms and stopped at the edge of a small clearing. In the center, purple light reflected off of the shiny parts of an obsidian portal. The noises the portal made cause Techno’s ears to twitch in distaste. Phil’s face brightened, a smile stretching across as he put his hand against his head.

“Holy shit, mate. You actually did it.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. Even though you did it. Holy shit, that’s incredible. You’re like a GPS.”

Techno felt a small smile creep its way onto his face, despite his best attempts to stop it. He looked down at the ground instead, scrapping a hoofed foot against the warped nylium, revealing the bare netherrack underneath.

“It’s just basic geography,” he mumbled, looking down at the ground.

“Well, I couldn’t find my way out,” Phil pointed out.

Techno shrugged. He stuck the tip of his sword into the nylium and looked at Phil expectantly. Phil was supposed to go through the portal. Then Techno wouldn’t see him again. Or his strange colored robes. But Phil was looking at him appraisingly, studying him closely in a way that reminded Techno of a darker time with another Overworlder who hadn’t been as polite. He shuffled backwards unconsciously.

Phil’s expression softened. “Hey mate, since you helped me with the hoglins, why don’t I repay the favor?”

Techno’s eyes narrowed. “How? I can fight hoglins on my own.”

“I could train you.”

The piglin hybrid stared at him. He was tempted to point out Phil had needed him to beat the sounder of hoglins. But then he remembered how confidently Phil had moved through the Nether even though he wasn’t born of it, hadn’t donned any armor other than the golden helmet.

“Why would you want to train me?”

Phil shrugged. “You look like you’ve got potential.”

Techno chewed over his words a bit. It was tempting. Techno was fairly skilled with sword, nothing in the Nether had been able to best him in combat yet. But even he didn’t walk like Phil.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Let me consider it.”

Phil inclined his head toward him and smiled. “Of course. I’ll be coming back in a few days. Think you might have an answer by then?”

“Perhaps,” Techno repeated. “Perhaps.”

The man ducked through the portal, standing on the edges as the dimensional magic began to pulse more rapidly. Phil disappeared from his sight, going back to the Overworld where he belonged. Techno gave one last glance to the portal before picking up his sword again and turning away. Hoglins didn’t live in Warped Forests. And Techno still needed food. Maybe when he’d returned to the Crimson Forest, he’d have more of an idea of what he wanted to do.

* * *

Techno was sitting underneath a large Warped Mushroom when the portal pulsed again three days later. Phil ducked back through. He’d ditched the golden helmet and instead, wore a floppy striped hat. He was still carrying his bag, though it was emptier than the last time. He smiled at Techno, who continued to sharpen his admittedly terrible golden sword with a chunk of basalt.

“Hullo again,” Phil said.

“Hello.”

“Care to walk with me while I collect some Warped Mushrooms?”

Wordlessly, Techno got to his feet, careful to keep the blade away from his body. Phil waited for him to join the older man at his side and then began to walk. They headed out in the opposite direction they’d come from when Techno had led him back there, towards the far off basalt deposit, from what Techno could remember. The nylium was spongey beneath his hooves, the hot, sulphurous smell of the Nether mixing together with the sickly sweet of what must have been the End, the remnants of what clung to the Enderman who enjoyed the blue-green forests so much.

Periodically, Phil would kneel down and dig one of the smaller warped mushrooms out of the ground with the tip of a small knife. He’d dust off the remnants of warped nylium that clung to the stalk, then tuck it away in his bag. Techno watched him do this enough times that the piglin hybrid’s mind began to wander and he thought about the much more entertaining task of hunting hoglins for breakfast instead of gathering fungi. He was deep in thought—planning out how  _ exactly _ he’d come from the side to kill one—when something brushed his left arm.

Without thinking, Techno automatically jerked up his sword and sliced, only to have his stroke blocked by something that sounded more like glass. When his eyes could focus again, he realized he’d attacked Phil.

“Good reflexes,” Phil noted. “But you’ll do better in the long run if you just pay more attention to begin with.”

Techno scowled. “That doesn’t count. You’re gatherin’ mushrooms.”

“I am. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pay attention.” Phil moved his sword away from Techno’s, slipping it back into its scabbard. “I know it’s not the most entertaining of tasks, but it’s good to do simple things to ground you.”

“Why would I need grounding?”

“All good warriors need a simple task to ground them. It’s useful in combat, which is something I’d like to teach you. If you’ll let me.”

Techno grunted, sounding very much like a piglin in that moment. He lowered his sword again and looked at the older man, suddenly uncertain. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be trained by the man if he’d do things like make him collect mushrooms and randomly attack him. As if reading his mind, Phil’s expression relaxed. He looked more like a tired, middle-aged man rather than the experienced warrior he’d been before.

“There’s no need to be so worried about it, mate. I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“I haven’t even said yes yet.”

“No, but it’s not like you can’t use what I tell you today later if you decide you don’t want to accept.”

He hated to admit it, but Phil had a point. The older man knelt down near another clump of warped mushrooms and patted the space next to him.

“Help me collect these last few, and then we can go back.”

Begrudgingly, Techno set his sword down and squatted next to Phil.

“You need to slide the knife to the side of the stem, pointing the tip towards the cup, where the roots are,” Phil said as he worked, demonstrating slowly so Techno could see. “Then you jerk the knife to the side and pull. When you hear the popping sound, that means you have the whole thing.”

He held up the mushroom for Techno to see. It was completely intact except where the thin trail of roots had been. Then Phil flipped the knife around and held the handle out to Techno.

“You try,” he said.

Tentatively, Techno wrapped a clawed hand around the knife. He shuffled over to another nearby mushroom and sank the knife into the ground near the stem of the mushroom. He attempted to do the same thing Phil had done before, trying to slice the roots off, but heard no pop sound as he pulled the mushroom up from the ground. He’d cut the mushroom off from the cup crookedly instead of in one piece. He held it up to Phil, who took the mushroom and smiled kindly.

“Not bad for your first time.”

“But I didn’t do it right.” Techno pointed out.

“So? Nobody ever does things right the first time around. The important part is that you tried to begin with. Your next mushroom will be easier, I guarantee it.”

Together, the piglin hybrid and the man with the wings filled the leather satchel with warped mushrooms, carefully cutting each one from the ground and placing it in the bag. By the time Phil decided they had enough, Techno’s mind had been made up. He’d spent his time listening to Phil talk about his son and the many, many worlds he’d seen in his time, the creations he’d made on his journeys. The battles he’d fought and won, hard earned victories and stupid ways he’d died and respawned in some other place for reasons Phil couldn’t explain other than that the universe had decided it wasn’t his time yet.

Phil was telling him another story—one about a baby zombie killing him in a world that didn’t allow for mistakes like that—when they made it back to the clearing where the Nether portal was.

“It was such a shit way to die, mate,” Phil was saying. “I hate those fucking things.”

Techno snorted softly. He’d stowed the crappy golden sword away in his inventory ages ago, no longer feeling the need to have it out around the winged man. He wasn’t going to attack him, he felt. Phil seemed content to tell him countless stories and Techno was glad to hear them.

They both paused at the portal. The purple glow made Philza’s wings look darker, almost menacing behind his back. A faint but warm breeze stirred the feathers and the stringy brown hair that fell around Techno’s face. He could sense Phil wanted to ask him if he’d made up his mind, but didn’t want to push him. The older man was fidgeting with his bag when Techno finally spoke up.

“Hey Phil?” he said, his monotone voice quieter than it had been before.

“Yeah, mate?”

“I think I’d like to take you up on that offer.”

* * *

Hours later, after travelling through the Nether portal and experiencing such a shock to his system that Techno had at first feared he was becoming a zombie piglin himself, he walked side by side with Phil through an Overworld biome with thick trees with dark brown bark. All around him, he caught flashes of the same color on Phil’s clothes—the color of  _ green _ —and he felt almost overwhelmed by the scents of the forest, the sounds of birds in the trees and chittering creatures Phil called squirrels. He couldn’t help but ask questions about the giant red spotted mushrooms that grew here and there in the forest. Phil bore a smile the entire trip, patiently explaining to the young teen what each new creature he saw was, what certain colors were called, even what the biome was called.

“This is a roofed forest, mate,” Phil said. “Dark enough that mobs spawn sometimes, but I like it here because no one bothers me and Wil.”

“Who’s Wil?”

“Wilbur. My son.” Phil glanced at Techno. “Hope you don’t mind that you need to live with him. He’s not annoying or anything but he  _ does _ like to cause a little chaos sometimes like playing his guitar at three in the morning.”

Techno tried to picture what kind of son Wilbur must have been to be related to Phil but came short. The only vague idea that he had was that surely, Wilbur also had the light colored hair and eyes. Maybe he even had wings, like Phil.

They came across a modest cottage made out of cobble and dark oak. A fenced-in garden stood off to the side and flowers grew in sporadic patterns around a well-trod dirt path. In the front yard with his back against a massive oak tree, a young boy held a guitar that nearly dwarfed him in size. He wore a bright yellow sweater that looked like it was much too big for him, similar to the guitar in that regard. When he heard their footsteps, his head jerked up from where he’d been looking at his fingers on the frets. Techno could see him squint, then a wide grin stretched across his face.

“Dad!” he yelled.

Then, as quick as lightning, he’d gotten to his feet and ran the rest of the way to Phil with the guitar slung over his back. Phil held open his arms and caught the boy easily, barely stumbling backwards. His wings unfurled and wrapped around them both, protecting them in one big, feathery cocoon.

Techno waited for Phil to fold his wings again, still clasping what must have been his son’s shoulder as he turned towards Techno. Now that the boy was closer, he couldn’t see much in the way of a family resemblance other than their noses. They were both straight and pointy, though Phil’s was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken before. The young boy— _ Wilbur _ Techno remembered—was scrawnier than even he was, with a mess of brown curls pulled to the side of his face. Round copper-framed glasses hung from the collar of his sweater and his smile was as friendly as his fathers.

“Wilbur, this is Technoblade,” Phil said. “Technoblade, this is Wilbur, my son.”

Wilbur stuck his hand out and Techno jerked back. The other boy didn’t act like anything had happened, just continued to smile and hold his hand out.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Dad already told me you might live with us.”

“He did?” Techno said, giving Phil a look.

The older man shrugged. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had an apprentice. Wilbur knows I used to help people before I had him to take care of.”

“Maybe you can help take some of the pressure off of me to succeed,” Wilbur said.

Phil gently ruffled Wilbur’s hair, smiling at his son. “I don’t pressure you  _ that _ much, mate,” he said, beginning to walk towards the cottage. “I let you play the guitar, after all.”

Techno finally shook Wilbur’s hand, surprised at how steady the boy’s hand was in his despite his appearance. He’d tried interacting with humans in the past. Most attempts had resulted in less than stellar reactions. But Wilbur wasn’t afraid of his pig features or the claws that tipped his fingers. If anything, he looked more fascinated than uneasy.

“I’ve never met a piglin hybrid before,” he mused. “That’s what you are, right?”

“Um.” Techno blinked. “I guess so?”

“That’s pretty cool! Did you inherit any fey abilities or is it just cosmetic?”

“Wil, stop bothering Techno and let the poor kid sit down in the house first,” Phil called ahead of them. He was already opening the door and stepping inside.

Wilbur grinned at him. Techno noticed then that his ears were slightly pointed.

_ So he’s got fey blood too _ , he thought to himself.

“C’mon! I wanna show you the house,” Wilbur said.

Techno followed the other boy silently, marvelling at the sound his hooved feet made as he walked up onto the wooden porch, slipping in behind Wilbur who held the door open for him. The inside was even more welcoming than the outside. Dried flowers hung from the rafters, various herbs intermingling in bundles. A large oak table took up most of the kitchen, though only two places had been set for dinner. On the stove, a large pot of soup bubbled and he could smell something baking in one of two furnaces. It had been painted a paler yellow than the sweater Wilbur wore and a few pots with well-tended plants rested on the windowsill overlooking the front yard. The setting sun bathed the whole room awash in golden light, making Techno squint as Phil pulled out a small wooden chest and dumped the warped mushrooms inside, pushing it aside on the somewhat messy wooden counter for later.

“This is the kitchen, obviously,” Wilbur said, startling Techno who had zoned out while taking everything in. “We eat and cook here. Except Dad says I need to learn how to cook better before I’m allowed to make anything on my own. I don’t know why though, I’m an  _ excellent  _ cook.”

“Wil, you almost started a fire putting basil in a pot of water one night,” Phil pointed out. “I think I have the right to be concerned.

Wilbur rolled his eyes but pulled on Techno’s frayed white shirt, dragging him into the room behind them. This room had been painted a pleasant sea green, the floors made of birch planks instead of the smooth stone from before. A soft but worn looking blue couch overlooked an empty fireplace. Bookshelves lined the two other walls, filled with different kinds of texts and pictures. Techno caught a glimpse of a small painting of what looked like a younger Phil and a woman who looked like she might have been his wife.

“This is the living room,” he announced. “We play a lot of board games and read in here. Sometimes, dad makes new clothes or things and I play my guitar when I figure out a new song.”

He pulled Techno up the nearby staircase and into a smaller room. The floors in here were made of polished diorite and the tile was white with pale blue accents.

“This is the bathroom,” he announced. “We shit in here and shower. But don’t shit in the shower, because that’s disgusting.”

He guided Techno down the hall and pointed into a larger room with forest green painted walls. They both peeked inside, not stepping over the threshold.

“This is Dad’s room,” he said. “We’re not supposed to go in here.”

Techno managed to catch a glimpse of a large, dark oak bed with a leaf-patterned quilt thrown over it before he was being dragged into the last room. It looked like the furniture had been moved around recently, the small twin sized bed pushed to the corner and posters tacked back up against the wall farthest away from the windows that overlooked the back of the house. A large stuffed black and white thing rested at the foot of the bed and a hollowed out barrel was chock full of various books. A writing desk had been set up on top of two more barrels, a book opened with a quill on top of it.

The other side of the room was a stark contrast from the other side. The bed there looked newer, still smelling of sawdust, though it had clean, white sheets already pulled over it.

“This is my room. Well,  _ our _ room now, I guess. Dad made you that bed so you’d have a good spot to sleep.”

Techno cautiously walked over to his alleged part of the room. He wanted to move the bed so the light from the window wouldn’t pour onto him in the morning, but the bookshelves were clean of anything and his own writing desk had been set up. Both boys had a chest at the foot of their beds for belongings and a lamp that hung above the desk, both burning bright with fire inside. He glanced behind him at Wilbur who still had his guitar on his back. He looked like he was waiting to see Techno’s reaction.

“It’s nice,” he said eventually, not accustomed to anyone caring what he thought.

Wilbur beamed. “It’ll be nicer when you decorate, I think. I’ve got my posters and books and my orca, but I’m sure once you decorate your side, the room won’t feel so empty anymore.”

Techno glanced again at Wilbur’s side, which had a blue rug pulled over so the oak plank floors weren’t exposed near the bed. Then he looked back at Wilbur.

“Why would you want to share your room with me?” he said. “You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t know you  _ yet _ ,” Wilbur corrected. “But I’ll get to know you sooner or later. Besides, where else were you going to sleep? I mean, there’s always the attic, but that gets super cold at night and during winter. And you’re from the Nether, so I doubt you’re even used to this weather yet.”

Techno didn’t admit to the other boy that he was correct in his assumption. He already felt cold and his body felt all fuzzy, like it still wasn’t sure if it wanted to turn or not.

“Do you like it?” Wilbur said.

Techno shrugged. “I’ve never had my own room before. Or a bed.”

“Well, once Dad figures out what kind of quilt you want, you’ll be all settled in. For now though, I think you’re going to have to use one of my extras. They’re warm, so don’t worry.”

“Wilbur! Techno! Come down here, I think the bread is finally done.” Phil’s call echoed up the stairs.

Wilbur perked up. He unslung the guitar from his back and set it down carefully on the messy bed, then grabbed Techno’s arm again and dragged him back down the stairs.

“By the way,” Wilbur said as they entered the kitchen where Phil was setting down another bowl and spoon. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” Techno mumbled. “I think.”

“No way!” the other boy gasped. “I’m thirteen too! We could be twins, you know.”

Techno looked at Wilbur skeptically. “We look nothing alike.”

“So? We’re twins.”

“Wilbur, help me get dinner on the table and stop tormenting poor Techno,” Phil said. “I didn’t ask him if he wanted me to train him for you to already insist you’re brothers.”

Techno watched as father and son moved around each other with a practiced sort of grace, with Phil pouring steaming hot soup into the ceramic bowls Wilbur held and Wilbur slicing bread when that task had been finished. The whole room smelled of fresh bread and rabbit soup. The piglin hybrid sank into his chair after a while, staring at the chunks of meat and diced vegetables floating in his bowl.

It was such a contrast to how life had been like in the Nether, where the only company Techno could hope for was that of the actual piglins and the only sounds were that of ghasts and hoglins or the squishy sound of magma cubes as they hopped from place to place. This place smelled good, full of two humans who’d shown him more decency than he’d ever experienced in his life and a special sort of goodness that both made Techno want to sink into it, and jump away at the same time.

He did neither of those things, picking up his spoon and scooping soup into his mouth as Wilbur told Phil about the new song idea that he’d been trying to compose before they’d come back. And though the temperature felt wrong, Techno felt like he’d finally found home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vocab fun fact: a sounder is what a group of pigs is called
> 
> another fun fact: i looked up several mushroom diagrams so i would be anatomically correct when writing the mushroom gathering scene. whether or not that's actually how you harvest mushrooms is up for debate, i personally don't know much about mushrooms other than that they're neat.


	2. A New Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for wrong pronouns concerning fundy!
> 
> it physically pained me to use the wrong pronouns but i promise you it's not forever

It seemed like a normal mid-spring day when Wilbur Soot ducked out of the van that served as his and Fundy’s home. Bees buzzed around early blooming flowers, collecting the sweet nectar inside and spreading pollen from each brightly colored bundle to the next. The trees were silent but for the occasional whispering as wind blew through their leaves, a whisper that could quickly turn into a roar if the breeze was strong enough.

In Wilbur’s hands, he cradled a cup of warm hot chocolate, something he’d decided he’d earned after spending most of the previous night mending his daughter’s overalls after she’d torn them going through bushes again. He sat on the steps to the van, inhaled the scent of chocolate wafting up from his mug and sighed out of contentment. It was a good life, if not what he’d expected when he’d set out at eighteen. Simple, just like the kind of life he’d led when he still lived with his dad.

With his eyes closed, Wilbur took a deep drink from his mug. A sudden shout made him almost spit it out again. He jerked his head up, eyes darting around from tree to tree, trying to identify what had made the noise and if there had been any words in it.

“Fundy?” he called, getting up and ducking back inside the van to set the mug on a counter. He grabbed his iron sword from its place near the door and set out into the forest.

“Fundy?” he called, his voice growing louder and more concerned. As he walked further into the trees, he could hear the sounds of conversation—the familiar tones of his daughter's voice—and someone new.

_ That better not be Sapnap again _ , he thought to himself.  _ I haven’t done anything wrong this time _ .

He continued to follow the sounds, dodging large bushes full of thorns and weaving through tightly packed tree trunks until he found the cause of the noise. The sight of his daughter's ginger head calmed his racing heart, but the boy she was talking to only added to his confusion. He was obviously much older than she was, his gangly limbs reminding Wilbur of a colt who was just beginning to grow up. His blond hair was dirty, leaves and twigs stuck in it every which way as if he’d gotten into a fight with a bush and lost badly. He was covered in scrapes and scratches, some patched with leaves and the others left alone. He wore no shoes.

Wilbur had been to plenty of villages and cities before in the past where homeless kids ran rampant, but this was the first one he’d ever seen in the Dream SMP and as far as he’d known, there weren’t enough people yet for random children to just show up out of the blue. Besides that, Dream kept a tight grip over who was allowed to enter and who wasn’t. How had this kid gotten in?

Even more bizarrely, the boy was holding a raggedy-looking rabbits foot that clearly had seen better days. And he appeared to be trying to sell it to Fundy.

“Listen, everyone wants foot these days,” he was saying. “It’s a good investment. You could buy it at this low, low price of twenty diamonds  _ now _ and then sell it later. That’s just good business sense.”

Fundy—though considerably more mature than she was supposed to be because of fey blood—looked confused by the strange boy's insistence that she buy the foot. She was holding a red mushroom, a small pile of other small treats behind her in a small, lopsided basket Wilbur had tried to make for her a few weeks prior.

“So do you want to buy foot?” the boy pressed.

Fundy blinked. “Um.”

“I’m telling you though, I’m  _ really _ telling you, that this is a good investment. You could be known as the one person who invested in foot before it was cool. Think about how absolutely awesome that would be.”

Fundy glanced off to the side and caught Wilbur’s eye, visibly relaxing. “Dad, this boy is trying to sell me foot and I don’t know what that means.”

The boy looked at Wilbur and jumped, screaming and backing off slowly. “Who the fuck are you?!” the kid shouted.

Wilbur lowered the sword and tried to look less threatening. “I could ask the same of you, kid. Where the hell did you come from?”

“Like I’m going to tell you, bitch boy.” The boy scowled. Then his expression brightened and he held out the rabbit’s foot towards Wilbur. “Would  _ you _ like to buy foot?”

Wilbur stared at him. Unprompted, the kid began to ramble almost an identical sales pitch to Wilbur. He often stumbled over his words or repeated statements but Wilbur had stopped listening after the first few sentences. It was becoming more and more obvious to him that this kid really had no one out there for him. His clothes hung from an overly thin body and he had this twitchy air about him that Wilbur wasn’t sure if it was from hunger or the intense amount of energy he was displaying with such a rapid-fire speech.

“Okay, hold on a minute there, mate,” Wilbur said at last, holding up his hand. The kid’s speech stuttered to a stop and he looked at Wilbur with undisguised impatience. “Let me get this straight here. You want to sell this foot to me for twenty diamonds?”

“I thought that was obvious. Unless you’re stupid. Are you stupid?”

“No, I’m not-” Wilbur stopped himself before he could get into it. “Why were you trying to sell a rabbit foot to a five year old?”

“Wait, you’re fucking five?” the kid turned to Fundy with the most comically surprised expression Wilbur had ever seen on another person. “What the fuck?”

Fundy chose not to reply to the blond boy, instead looking at her father with a slightly pleading look on her face.

“Well, more like seven,” Wilbur amended. “Still much younger than you, at any rate.”

“Excuse me, I am a  _ big man _ ,” the boy began shouting again. “I am a  _ big man _ who can take care of myself. Tommy Danger Kraken Innit doesn’t need anybody because he is a big man and all his muscles keep everyone away anyways. I am your  _ superior _ .”

Wilbur couldn't help the snort that came out of his nose but he quickly tried to hide it as a cough. Tommy didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy trying to show off the muscles he didn’t have. The older man dragged his fingers through his hair, leaning against his iron sword as if it was a cane even though he could still hear a nagging voice in the back of his mind that sounded like Technoblade telling him he shouldn’t do that because it was bad for the metal. He continued to study the kid in front of him, who had stopped flexing and now looked at him with an eager expression.

There wasn’t really much to the kid, but he had some sort of glimmer in his eyes that caught Wilbur’s attention. He paid attention to the way Tommy stood—open, yet his feet were wide apart and he stood on the balls of his feet as if prepared to run at a moment's notice. His hands never stopped fiddling with things—his shirt, the rabbit foot, his hair—and his eyes darted to check on Fundy, who had returned to her foraging as quietly as possible.

“Before I buy your foot,” Wilbur said suddenly, an idea of sorts coming into his mind. “Would you like some lunch?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fundy’s fox ears swivel towards him, though she kept her gaze firmly planted on the bush. Tommy seemed to perk up as well.

“Well,” he said, kicking his left foot back and forth across the grass. “I suppose it’s better to make business deals over food.”

“Most of the time, yes,” Wilbur agreed. “I was about to make something to eat anyways. Fundy, do you want to help me make lunch?”

The fox hybrid considered it, tilting her head to the side. Then she scooped up her lopsided basket and darted to his side, beaming up at him. “Yes! But only if I get to include the berries.”

“Of course you can include the berries.” Wilbur smiled at her, ruffling her hair. He looked back at Tommy. “Come on, I’ll make sandwiches.”

* * *

Tommy had no table manners to speak of.

Wilbur had been smart enough to make a table outside at one point. He couldn’t remember the original intent. Perhaps he’d intended to have a picnic with Fundy one day, during one of their games of pretend where she invented some bizarre story and he’d go along with it. But right now, Tommy Innit was tearing through his third chicken salad sandwich and showed no signs of stopping. Fundy watched him with a mixture of horror and intrigue on her face as the older boy managed to fit half of the sandwich into his mouth at one time. Wilbur was mostly disgusted. But he stayed outside with the kids, mostly so he could ask Tommy questions and get more of a read on the situation at hand.

“How old are you, Tommy?” he said, watching as Tommy swallowed the last of his sandwich.

“Twelve, I reckon,” Tommy replied. He had mayo smeared across his left cheek. “Y’know, big man age and shit. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“That’s pretty old.”

Wilbur chuckled. “I guess. I don’t think it’s that old though.”

“Yeah, well you would.”

“Do you have any parents?”

“No. I can take care of myself though. Been doing a fine job of that for my entire life.”

Wilbur hummed and stretched his legs out, leaning backwards to raise his arms over his head. He’d put the sword away back in the van. One slightly feral twelve year old didn’t need to be anywhere near a sword. His foot connected with something solid and Tommy shot him a dirty look.

“Oy! Move your stringbean legs away from mine.”

Wilbur didn’t bother commenting on the fact that if he’d been sitting properly, his foot wouldn’t have connected with Tommy’s leg in the first place. He was trying his best not to scare the kid off, though thus far, Tommy had relaxed more with the presence of food. He’d made Fundy laugh with a story that had obviously been fabricated about how he’d beaten the Ender Dragon on his own, while simultaneously breaking a lamp and somehow getting the glowstone dust in his hair. Wilbur could still see it glowing, even though the sun was out.

But Tommy clearly needed someone. The kid had just downed five— _ five! _ —sandwiches without any problems. Fundy pushed her bowl of berries towards him and Tommy smiled at her, taking a handful and passing the bowl back. Whenever Wilbur thought about making big decisions like this, he thought of how his dad would react. Philza Minecraft wouldn’t just let the poor kid run wild like this. He would’ve taken him in, offered him a permanent home and food, taught him how to use a napkin for god's sakes. And the more Wilbur thought about it, the more his mind was made up. It’d been awhile since he’d had a brother.

“Hey Tommy,” Wilbur began.

“What, bitch?” Tommy said through a mouthful of berries.

Wilbur frowned at the sight of half-chewed fruit but quickly moved on. “Hey Tommy, would you like to stay here for a bit with me and Fundy? I’m willing to pay you for the foot but I need you to help me get things done around here.”

“You need my massive brain power to help get things done.” Tommy nodded sagely. “I understand, my friend, I understand. But what about all of the girlfriends I’m leaving behind?”

_ This fucking kid _ — Wilbur thought. He did his best to avoid showing his frustration. “You could always write them a note?”

Tommy tapped his fingers along his jaw, thinking about it carefully. Then he smiled and looked back at Wilbur, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re right, you’re absolutely right. Do you have any more sandwiches by the way? Because if not, then I’m gonna-I’m gonna eat the fuckin’ table.”

Shaking his head and smiling, Wilbur pushed himself up from the table and pulled his legs out from underneath it. “I can make you another sandwich, Tommy. You don’t need to go and eat furniture.”

“I think that would be horrible for your teeth,” Fundy added.

“Have you ever eaten any tables, Fundy?” Tommy asked.

Wilbur shut the door of the van behind him on the conversation before he had to endure whatever bizarre monologue Tommy was about to go on. He pulled the loaf of bread out again and the jar of chicken salad that was already half empty. He found a clean kitchen knife in one of the drawers and sliced two pieces of bread, then dipped the knife into the jar and began to spread the chicken salad on both sides evenly. He hummed a song while he made the sandwich, trying to figure out where his fingers would need to be on his guitar later so he could play it properly.

The van door cracked open.

“Hey Wilbur—” Tommy’s head popped in.

Wilbur jumped. “Jesus christ, gremlin child.”

“Don’t be so fucking jumpy,” Tommy retorted. “Fundy wanted to know if there was any milk—holy shit, do you live here?”

Wilbur glanced at the boy who was staring at the old, battered van like it was some kind of treasury. He ran his fingers over the back of one of the booths that made up the table he and Fundy usually ate at and stared at a picture Wilbur had taped to the wall. It was the last one Phil had taken before Wilbur had decided he wanted to see the world and Techno had left to seek glory in the arenas in Hypixel.

“Who’s that?” Tommy asked.

“Which person?”

“The old fuck with the wings.”

Wilbur snickered. “Tommy, that’s my dad.”

“Oh.” He kept staring. “You don’t look alike.”

“No, we don’t.” He didn’t feel like elaborating why.

He watched Tommy jab a finger at Techno, who looked more human than he usually did.

“Who’s the fucker in the crown?”

“Technoblade.”

“What’s he do?”

“He’s a skilled fighter,” Wilbur replied. He pressed the two pieces of bread together and walked over to Tommy with the sandwich. “My dad took him in when we were both a year older than you. Trained him to become a good warrior. But Techno became better than good.”

“How good is he?”

“ _ Very _ good.” Wilbur smiled. “Technoblade rarely loses. And he never dies.”

Tommy’s mouth fell open in awe. He took the sandwich from Wilbur and let the older man gently nudge him out of the van, back to where Fundy had begun carving onto the table with her claws.

“Fundy,” Wilbur said in a chiding tone. “You know you’re not supposed to do that. Do you want to color instead?”

Fundy’s ears perked up. “Sure!”

For the rest of the afternoon, Wilbur patiently answered any and all questions about Technoblade that he could. He told him the story of how the piglin hybrid had come to live with him and his father. He told him how Techno rarely slept and when he did, he slept deeply enough that normal noises didn’t bother him, but the groan of a zombie or the clattering bones of a skeleton were enough to rouse the great warrior from his slumber.

As the day passed on, Wilbur dug through the chests they stored materials in, in an attempt to find what the preteen would need if he was to live with them. Wilbur didn’t have enough materials to make Tommy a proper bed, but he was careful to stack pillows onto one of the booths and made sure the young boy wouldn’t fall off in the middle of the night. The preteen seemed excited to be sleeping there at all, even if he didn’t have a bed.

“You’re  _ sure  _ you’ll be okay right here?” Wilbur asked again.

Tommy’s head was close to the wall. He’d pulled the covers up so that they were near his chin, his feet sticking out from underneath the blankets. He’d curled himself into as much of a ball as he could. Fortunately, the booth had wide seats.

“I’ve slept in a tree before. This is  _ much _ cooler than a tree,” he replied.

“Well, good night then, Tommy Innit.”

“Good night, Wilbur Soot.”

Tommy mumbled something else to himself that Wilbur didn’t quite catch, but the man pressed on towards the back of the van. He paused by Fundy’s cot, kneeling down and smoothing her hair over. She’d fallen fast asleep, her fox ears twitching as she dreamed. He smiled softly at her and kissed her forehead, then pressed on to the very back of the bus where he’d divided the space up using a curtain.

Behind it, a soul lantern cast a very dim amount of light. He’d pushed barrels in between him and the wall, most were full of books he’d taken with him when he’d left home and a few had his clothes and various other tidbits he treasured. He’d secured his guitar on the wall above with rope and hadn’t taken it down in a few weeks, but now was not the time to play it. He pulled out a spare piece of paper and a fresh ink sac along with his favorite quill and leaned against the barrel he used as a desk. He pulled a worn, but well loved orca stuffed animal up to his chest and sighed, then began composing a letter for his father to update him about the weekly going ons. He’d taken up the habit after meeting Sally and having Fundy, since his father was off having his own adventures after so many years of raising Wilbur and training Techno.

When he was done and had changed into older clothes he used for pajamas, he turned off the soul lamp and settled down into his mess of bedding, reviewing the things he needed to get done tomorrow. He’d mostly been planning on going to the Nether to collect supplies for the new, more illegal business he wanted to start soon. Fundy would’ve had to come with him of course, but now that Tommy was here, maybe he could ask the older boy to keep an eye on her? And then after that, maybe he’d like to join him on his potion business. Dream had made it a point to state what was illegal and what wasn’t when Wilbur had first entered his server, but what the green boi didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like it's worth mentioning that it took a conversation with a friend who only recently got into dream smp to figure out how i was going to write tommy since i struggle to understand him quite like i do with techno and wilbur, so i hope i nailed him well!
> 
> also! for those who care, a brief summary of how the hybrid/fey rules work in this fic: those with fey blood often take on animalistic characteristics depending on how much they have. some, like fundy, have a higher percentage than someone like wilbur, and exhibit those traits all of the time (fox ears, clawed hands, a tail, etc) whereas others might only have a simple indication like weird eye color, strange teeth or pointy elf ears (like wilbur. wilbur has somewhat sharper canines and pointy ears). most people by the time they're around wilbur's age have worked out how to control how these particular attributes come out (hence why techno was described to look more human "than he usually did" in the picture), but those who didn't know they had fey blood to begin with or werent properly taught never learn. what kind of animal attributes a parent has don't always carry over to the offspring either! taking attributes from hostile mobs is also seen as very rare, which is why wilbur was so surprised to see techno was a piglin hybrid. the last thing i really want to mention before going is that higher percentages of fey blood mean more unpredictable aging. fundy is really 7 at age 5 because his growth is different from say, someone like philza who's been around for a long time and still looks middle aged. tommy and wilbur are the same ages as they give! they don't have enough fey blood to make a difference (and i can assure you, they do have fey blood, it's just not enough to present itself :) (also, wilbur hides his features lmao).
> 
> so yeah! hope that all made sense and that you enjoyed the chapter :)


	3. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for misgendering fundy again! i promise, fundy will get the right pronouns someday guys, don't worry about it! :)

“Ow!” Tommy cried, jerking his shoulder away from Wilbur. “Stop it!”

“If you’d just stop moving so much, I wouldn’t keep sticking you with the needle!” Wilbur replied, exasperated.

Said needle glinted in the light of the lantern, red thread trailing after it as he waved it through the air. The feral child Wilbur had taken in two weeks ago had miraculously transformed from some wild creature into something that resembled more of a boy. A boy who still often came home bearing more scrapes than unmarred skin, but a boy nonetheless. Rain danced on the metal roof above their heads and thunder rumbled in the distance. To Wilbur’s other side, Fundy nestled closer. The children had decided to congregate on his bed while the storm continued to rage outside of the van. Wilbur had been in the middle of sewing sleeves onto a new shirt for Tommy, who’d then insisted on wearing it so it would fit properly.

Wilbur shifted behind the preteen, ignoring how his glasses were sliding down his face as he carefully stuck the needle between the two pieces of fabric and pulled. This time, Tommy remained still, not even breathing as Wilbur pulled the string taut and then wove it back through to the other side. Outside the window above Fundy’s bed, a lighting strike split through the sky and a loud crack of thunder soon followed. Fundy whimpered and pressed herself more tightly against her fathers side. Her human features had long since been lost to the fox side, her fear of the storm making her fey blood react accordingly and providing her with a foxes face and fur to help keep her safe.

“It’s alright, Fundy. The storm can’t get you in the van,” Wilbur said soothingly.

He stuck the needle into the shirt as if it was a pin cushion and wrapped his arm around her small frame, gently rubbing her back.

“Yeah, the Camarvan’s got magic powers and shit,” Tommy added. “No way some fucking lightning’s getting in here.”

“The sound still hurts my ears,” Fundy mumbled into Wilbur’s sweater.

Wilbur frowned, still rubbing her back. Perhaps her fox ears were more of a hindrance than he’d initially realized. At least it explained why she hated storms so much.

“Fundy, when the storm fucks off, we can go look for another tree to try that trap in,” Tommy said. He shifted in front of Wilbur, wincing as the needle pricked him again. “Maybe it’ll even work this time.”

Fundy’s ears didn’t perk up from where she had them pressed against her head, but her golden eyes peered at Tommy curiously. “I thought you said there was no way it’d work.”

Tommy shrugged. “Might as well anyways, right?”

“And if it doesn’t work, you can always try again,” Wilbur added. “You should always try again if your plan doesn’t work the first time around.”

He squeezed her shoulder one last time and turned back to Tommy and began to sew again. Slowly, stitch by stitch, a plain white t-shirt came into being. The stitches were lopsided and the red thread only made it that much more clear when he looked at it from afar, but Tommy smiled widely when he saw the red thread and Wilbur felt his own face returning a fonder expression. He picked up his scissors and snipped the last thread off, smoothing it down and the rest of the shirt.

“There we go,” he said. “Should be good enough to go. When I have something to trade for it, I’ll get you proper trousers. What do you think?”

Tommy stretched his arms above his head and nearly smacked Wilbur in the nose, twisting from side to side. When he was done, he sprung up from the bed and spun around to face father and daughter.

“I think I look fucking fantastic,” he said, beaming. “Thanks, Wil.”

Wilbur leaned forward and ruffled the younger boy's hair, smiling. “You’re welcome.” He glanced out the window and noted the rain was beginning to ease. He turned to Fundy, who still had her fox face pressed into his sweater, her eyes closed. “Would you two like to go out for a bit before monsters spawn?”

Fundy moved back a bit so she could look at Wilbur and nodded slowly. Her ears were still pressed against her head and he could feel her shivering. He scooped her up into his arms and scooted towards the edge of the bed, making Tommy back up.

“C’mon, the storms gone now, my little soldier,” he said, smiling. “No need to be afraid anymore.”

He stood up and bounced her a little bit, making the young fox giggle. Tommy walked ahead of them, practically tripping over himself as he unlocked the door and sprang out into the damp, chilly afternoon air. Wilbur ducked out of the doorway after him, closing it shut and stood still on the steps for just a moment. The world smelled clean and fresh, the dying light of the day’s sun glinting on the blades of wet grass, making them look like diamonds. Rain only fell occasionally now, enough to annoy but not enough to soak. Wilbur shifted Fundy to one arm, watching Tommy run around the clearing and started laughing when he slipped on the grass and fell.

“It’s not that funny!” the younger boy retorted.

“It is a little bit,” Fundy said, giggling.

“Tommy, you know you’d be laughing if it were Fundy who fell,” Wilbur pointed out, still chuckling.

He glanced at the setting sun, turning his body to face and so he and Fundy could properly admire the painted sky. Tommy joined them soon after. His new white shirt was damp and stained green from his fall, but he looked happy to be out of the van, even if it was for a few minutes. Fundy nuzzled her head into Wilbur’s shoulder, her soft fur brushing against his jaw.

“Alright, come on, you lot,” Wilbur said, hearing the first groans of zombies as they made their way out of the caves. “We need to go back to the van now.”

“Oh, c’mon, Wil,” Tommy whined. “We’ve been inside all day, can’t we stay out five more minutes?”

“No,” Wilbur said firmly. “It’s not safe. C’mon, I’ll play some music for you before bed.”

Tommy’s expression brightened and he hurried into the van before Wilbur, disappearing inside. Wilbur cast one last glance around the clearing and went back inside, setting Fundy down on the floor and locking the door behind them. He dimmed the lanterns in the kitchen area and the one that hung over the table. Tommy still slept on the booth but now he had a few drawings Fundy had made for him taped to the wall. Both of them settled back onto Wilbur’s bed, looking eagerly at him as he slipped off his boots and tucked them underneath in another barrel.

He half crawled between them, grunting a little. Carefully, he untied his guitar from its place on the wall and pulled his favorite pick out of an old, chipped ceramic mug that he used to keep track of smaller things like his quill and rocks Fundy had found on trips to the forest.

Fundy’s tail wagged back and forth and she beamed at her father as he strummed a few chords, listening with careful ears so he could tune it. When the notes played the way they should’ve, he began plucking the notes for a song he’d composed in the early days of his wanderings, back when he was alone with nothing but the road and his guitar for company.

“ _ The cute bomber jacket you've had since sixth form, adorned with patches of places you’ve been _ ,” he sang, his voice soft. “ _ Is nothing on my khaki coat that I got, from a roadside when I was sixteen _ .

“ _ My boots are from airports, my backpack's from friends. I'm not a man of substance and so I’ll pretend to be a wanderer, wandering, leaving ascetic belongings in hostels and restaurant bins _ ,”

Wilbur risked a glance up to check on the kids, smiling at Fundy, who’d heard the song before and was simply swaying from side to side, holding her tail in her hands and looking content. When he looked at Tommy, he was amazed to see the boy so abnormally still. Tommy’s entire body was ramrod straight as he stared at Wilbur’s fingers playing the guitar, his left hand holding the right one’s thumb. He caught Wilbur’s eye and quickly looked away. Wilbur smiled.

Techno had never been overly fond of music, claiming it was largely useless compared to sword fighting or farming or even foraging. But even he had sat in the living room in their cottage in the roofed forest, inspecting his weapons and sharpening blades. The way Tommy sat now reminded Wilbur of Techno, though the piglin hybrid always looked more relaxed than how Tommy was sitting, tense and attentive instead of doing something else entirely.

“ _ The roads are my home as horizon's my target, if I keep on moving, never lose sight of it _ ,” Wilbur continued to sing, the smile never leaving his face even as he looked back at his guitar. “ _ Treating my memory of you like a fire, let it burn out, don't fight it and try to move on. _

“ _ It's been sixty weeks since I saw Vienna. A bandage and a wide smile slapped across my face. I'll pick up my hiking boots when I am ready, and I'll put down my roots when I'm dead _ .”

He slowed, changing the tune slightly to finish the song. His voice was barely more than a whisper now. “ _ The distance is futile, come on, don't be hasty. You’ll get that feeling deep inside your bones _ .”

He raised his voice a bit. “ _ I’ll be gone then...when you must be _ ,” his voice back down to barely above a whisper. “ _ Alone _ .”

His fingers plucked the ending chords, smiling at how the music seemed to hang in the air long after the last chord had been played. Fundy looked half asleep, still holding her tail while her blinks became longer and longer. Tommy still looked alert, but more relaxed now that the song was done. He was fidgeting with his fingers a little, looking at Wilbur with a strange expression.

Wilbur pulled his guitar away from his body and set it down on a clear space on the bed and carefully scooted over, scooping Fundy back up and getting up to put her in her bed. He drew the crumpled blankets up around her and tucked her in tightly, smoothing the blankets over her body so they were neat. She still looked like an anthropomorphic fox, her muzzle long and fluffy.

He kissed her forehead and smiled at her as she yawned. “Good night, little fox,” he whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

He moved back to where Tommy still sat on his bed and began to tie the guitar up again, tossing the pick into the mug and crossing his legs together.

“Wil?”

Wilbur glanced back at Tommy, hands still working to secure the guitar.

“What was that?”

He blinked. “What’d you mean?”

“The thing you just did. What was it?”

Wilbur tightened the ropes one last time and sat back down. “That was music. A song I composed on my early days of travelling.”

“Music?” Tommy echoed. Wilbur noted he was careful to keep his normally loud, abrasive voice quiet so as to not wake up Fundy.

“Yeah, music. Y’know. Singing and playing and sometimes playing an instrument.” Wilbur leaned back against his barrels, letting his lower back press against their edges. “You’ve never heard music before?”

Tommy shook his head. “Just birds chirping,” he mumbled. “Most didn’t like to do that around me anyways.” He twisted his thumb back and forth a few times. “What was that song called? The one you just played?”

Wilbur smiled. “‘Since I Saw Vienna’.”

“Where is Vienna anyhow?”

“It’s just a made up place, Tommy. Something I imagined in my head.”

“Oh.” Tommy looked at the rumpled blankets, still fidgeting. “It sort of reminded me of...open roads and things like that. But kind of lonely. Were you lonely when you wrote that?”

“Sort of,” Wilbur said slowly. “I was eighteen at the time, freshly on my own for the first time ever. Even when my dad and Techno would take off for a few days, I wasn’t ever really alone. But those first few months after I left, it was a bit hard.”

“Why’d you leave then?”

Wilbur blinked. He didn’t really have a reason he could easily explain, other than some deep seated desire to see the world. Then he’d met Sally while camping near a river and one thing had led to another...and he’d become a father just barely a year after leaving. Now he was here. And he wasn’t unhappy with the life he led now. Sometimes, he missed the unpredictability of it all. But he had Fundy to take care of, and now Tommy, so it felt like an even trade.

“It’s a bit more...more complicated than that, Tommy,” he said eventually. He ruffled the blonds hair and smiled. “But I’m not lonely anymore, so it’s not that big of a deal, big man, so don’t worry about it.”

Tommy didn’t look like he quite believed him, but he didn’t say anything as he shoved Wilbur’s arm away. Without warning, he leaned over and gave Wilbur a quick hug, then moved away before the man could even think of reciprocating. He moved off of the bed, mumbling a soft “good night, Wil” as he went and disappeared further down the van to his booth.

Wilbur sat alone in the dark for a few minutes more. He couldn’t quite explain why and if anyone would have asked, he would’ve simply stated he’d too much caffeine. But he forced himself to get ready for bed and if he laid in the dark a few minutes more with his orca, thinking about what Tommy Innit had seen in his song, then nobody in the van or outside of it was none the wiser.

* * *

Tommy wasn’t used to little kids. He couldn’t really remember the specifics of his childhood before he’d stumbled onto these new lands, but he knew he wasn’t used to little kids. He wasn’t sure if there were specific rules to talking to them or if he was supposed to stop them from setting up elaborate monster traps in trees. Wilbur hadn’t really said anything regarding Fundy other than “Don’t bite each other” and “Try not to kill each other either”. The latter had been remarkably easier than the former.

“Tie that rope there,” Fundy called.

She’d perched herself up in a tree and now straddled the branch where the net would hang once the trap had been sprung.

He glanced at the rope in question, made from a combination of grass fibers and spider string, and quickly did as she’d ordered. The trap was surprisingly complex for a five-year-old-who-was-actually-seven to have created. Fundy had an eye for detail and a brain for trickery. She’d displayed both simultaneously the first week Tommy had stayed with Wilbur, luring him into the woods and trapping him in a similar net contraption from before. He could still remember how she’d fallen over laughing, cackling just like a fox.

“What’s this one for again?” Tommy asked.

“Skeletons. Dad said he wanted a bone meal and we don’t own a composter yet.” The fox hybrid adjusted one of the wooden pulleys she’d made by carving spare pieces of wood, lodging it more firmly into one of the branches. “He also said he wanted spider eyes, but I haven’t figured out how to catch them yet. They can dissolve the string, but the grass fibers don’t stick as much without it.”

Tommy nudged one of the ropes with the tip of his shoe, watching the vibration go through the entire trap, like one big spider web. “How will the skeletons not fall out? The fucking gaps in the net are too big, dipshit.”

Fundy huffed. “One of us knows how to make traps and the other one can’t mine iron without getting bored. The trap will work, Tommy. And if it doesn’t, then we’ll at least get a nice sheep or pig for dinner one night.”

She slipped down from the tree, falling on her hands and feet and stood up, brushing off her pants. Tommy glanced back at the trap. The netting had been hidden under a mixture of leaves and dirt, a stone pressure plate masked as a rock being the trigger. Fundy had purposefully walked on the dirt and flattened it again, covering what she couldn’t with leaves so future mobs wouldn’t get suspicious. Tommy smelled too much like a human to be of any use but Fundy smelled almost exactly like a fox. Her scent would be ignored in a forest.

“So what do we do now?” Tommy asked.

Fundy shrugged. “The trap is set, so we can’t be anywhere near there for awhile. Dad said I wasn’t allowed to collect berries anymore after the last batch disagreed with him so much,” she said. Then she added, “And he’s not going to be back until before sunset.”

“What the fuck is he even doing in the Nether?” Tommy mumbled.

“Getting ghast tears, I think. He’s been doing that a lot lately.”

The pair fell silent as they continued walking through the trees, not really paying attention to where they were going. Every so often, they would see a sheep or a pig and make note of it. Sometimes, a cow would come across their path and Fundy had to wait while Tommy fed the cow spare snacks he kept in his pocket, patting its shaggy head before moving on. Tommy had a knack with cows. He liked them and they liked him back. He was tempted to ask Wilbur if they could get a few cows someday. Having access to fresh milk constantly would be a good addition to their sparse foodstuffs in the kitchen.

They weren’t really paying attention to where they were going or their surroundings so much other than the bare minimum. They didn’t notice when they crossed over from familiar paths to a darker, more foreboding part of the forest. One where monsters still lurked long after the sun had risen high in the sky. The trees had not changed from oak and the occasional birch, but the air felt different in their lungs, more wild and full of an extra  _ something _ that neither Fundy nor Tommy could explain.

Another cow crossed Tommy’s path, smaller than the others. The boy smiled and patted the cow gently on its head, slipping a bit of wheat out of his pockets. Fundy crossed her arms, her ears twitching at the various sounds of the world around them. Something was bothering her, some unseen threat, but she chalked it up to being alone in the forest. The hair on the back of her neck prickled with unease.

A sinister hiss came from just behind Fundy, the scent of sulfur reaching her keen nose too late. She attempted to run, knowing the creeper was too close for her to possibly put enough distance between them. She could feel the building heat as the monster behind her began to blow up. Then something brushed her cheek and the hissing stopped. Something fell over behind her. In front of her, Tommy stumbled backwards, his eyes wide. The cow lowed, still munching on its wheat. An arrow with white chicken feathers for fletching stuck out of the creepers forehead.

“You should be more careful.”

Tommy’s head snapped around to look behind him, where a tall man donning a green hoodie and a white smiling mask stood. The mask covered his face completely, glinting in the sunlight. By his side, he carried an unloaded crossbow. A netherite axe was strapped to his back. The crossbow disappeared into his inventory and he walked towards the dead creeper, collecting the sulfur that replaced its body as it vanished into nothingness. He turned towards the children.

“Who the fuck are you?” Tommy blurted out.

Fundy’s ears flattened against her head. She opened her mouth to say something but the man cut her off.

“My name’s Dream,” he said. “Who are you?”

Tommy got to his feet, puffing out his chest a little. “Tommy Danger Kraken Innit. You look like a prick with that mask.”

“Tommy!” Fundy hissed.

“It’s fine,” Dream said, holding his hand up. “Do you live with Wilbur?”

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re brothers, me and him.”

The mask remained unchanging. The man shifted on his feet, worn leather boots scraping against the dirt. He had a few potions clipped to a belt at his hip. Another strap ran across his chest with more loops, empty now but suggesting he’d had reason to carry more than what he had now.

“Follow me then,” Dream said. “I’ll take you back home.”

“Ay, we can find our own fucking way back-” Tommy started but Fundy hit his arm and mumbled a thank you.

Dream didn’t acknowledge the preteens outburst. He walked confidently through the forest. It looked like his feet barely even touched the ground. He kept his hands tucked into the green hoodie, looking at the forest around him as if he didn’t have a care in the world. A thick leather strap kept the mask on his face, short, dirty blond hair covering the top edge a little bit. The netherite axe glinted on his back. The handle had been wrapped in green fabric, a different shade from his hoodie.

“You still didn’t tell us who you were,” Tommy said loudly. A chicken clucked nearby.

“This is my server,” Dream said. “I control who comes in.”

“Well, I didn’t fucking see you when I wandered here,” Tommy retorted.

“Just because you didn’t see me doesn’t mean I wasn’t watching,” the older man replied. When he turned, Tommy could see a flash of skin, the curve of a smirk before being greeted by that white mask again. “No one gets in here without me knowing. So consider yourself lucky that I let you stay at all.”

Tommy scoffed and crossed his arms. “Like you could keep me out, bitch,” he muttered. Dream didn’t respond.

When they finally stepped into the clearing where the Camarvan rested in all her glory, the burning hotdog still ablaze from Tommy’s recent redecoration project, the sun was beginning to set. Wilbur sat on the steps of the van, his head in his lap, fingers tearing through his hair. His head jerked up when Dream purposefully stepped on a twig, making everyone jump at the sudden noise. Wilbur stumbled to his feet and half jogged over to them, stopping in the middle. Fundy darted ahead, launching herself into Wilbur’s waiting arms. The two embraced for several minutes, uninterrupted, as Dream and Tommy approached.

“Dream,” Wilbur said, his voice flat.

“Wilbur,” Dream replied. His voice wasn’t as hostile, sounding more bored than anything. “Your daughter wandered into my neck of the woods and almost got herself blown up by a creeper.”

Wilbur jerked back and looked down at Fundy, running his fingers through her hair. She’d buried her face in his sweater, ears lowered a little. Tommy joined Wilbur’s side, tucking himself a bit behind the older man so the force of Dream’s gaze wasn’t solely on him.

“Fortunately, I was there to stop anything bad from happening,” Dream added. “But these two should be more careful. Wouldn’t want them to blow up. That’d be pretty messy.”

“Yes, it would.” Wilbur swallowed. He glanced behind to look at Tommy. He looked mostly unaffected by the whole ordeal, though half of his hair was sticking up and the other half had leaves stuck in it again.

“Thank you,” Wilbur said.

Dream dipped his head in acknowledgement. He pulled an ender pearl out of his inventory, tossing it lightly up and down like it was a ball. “Try to look out for creepers,” he said lightly. Then he threw the ender pearl and vanished seconds later.

Wilbur relaxed slightly. He knelt down and scooped Fundy up, tucking her into his side and walked back to the Camarvan. He set her down on the booth Tommy didn’t sleep on and gestured for the preteen to sit on the other side, silent as he locked the door so mobs couldn’t get in. Tommy did as he was commanded, quiet for once.

“Explain to me what you were doing near Dream’s side of the forest,” Wilbur said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I’ll decide whether or not I need to be pissed off based on that.”

“Okay, so me and Fundy went into the woods to set a skeleton trap because you said you needed bone meal. So we did that and then we were bored because you were still in the Nether--which why are you in the fucking Nether in the first place? It sucks in there--but then I saw a cow and I went to pet it and I gave it some wheat I had in my pocket, and I guess this fucking creeper came out of nowhere and almost blew up Fundy but that Dream guy shot an arrow in its head and he took us back. Who is he, by the way? And why does he wear a fucking mask?”

Wilbur sighed long and hard. He was still pinching the bridge of his nose, curly hair hiding his eyes. When he looked up, he looked more stern than Tommy had ever seen him look before.

“I’d like to think I’m pretty fair to you two as long as you don’t go too far and fill in creeper holes that crop up near the van,” he said. “But for the love of the gods, do  _ not _ wander anywhere near Dream or his cohorts, alright?”

“But  _ why _ ?” Tommy protested. “This Dream guy didn’t even care that we were there! And he killed the creeper for us! Doesn’t he let us live here?”

“Yes, but that’s aside from the point. Just don’t do anything to catch his attention, alright?” In a more quiet voice, Wilbur added, “That’s the last thing we need right now.”

Fundy, who up until that point, had been staring at the table, looked up at her father. Her yellow eyes glowed in the dark strangely. They were the most consistent thing about her other than her sharp teeth and ears. Tommy had been startled by them before when she’d headed for the outhouse late at night.

“What is he, dad?” she said.

Wilbur blinked. “Who? Dream?”

Fundy nodded.

“I don’t know. Some kind of spirit...or a demon, maybe. He’s not a hybrid, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“He doesn’t look like a fey either,” she said. “His ears aren’t pointed like yours or Tommy’s.”

“Oy bitch, my ears are perfectly fucking normal,” Tommy shot back.

“He’s not human,” Wilbur said firmly. “That much I can guarantee. Now, go wash your hands in the sink and sit back at the table. I need to put my shoes back under my bed.”

The older man disappeared into the back of the van. The lanterns hadn’t been lit there, only the ones in the kitchen space. Tommy let Fundy go ahead of him, thinking about the strange masked man. Dream. He really hadn’t seemed bothered by helping him and Fundy at all, more amused than anything. And despite being the owner of the server, he looked well... _ normal _ aside from the mask. Surely someone with power like that was supposed to look more impressive, right? Tommy would’ve wanted everyone to know if he was a man in charge.

Then there was the matter of Wilbur’s strange reaction towards Dream. Very little rattled Wilbur from what Tommy had seen. He travelled to the Nether with no armor, carrying only a worn iron sword and supplies to get back. Why didn’t he want Dream around? While Tommy was drying his hands off, he decided he wouldn’t go back to the forest from before. At least, not on purpose. The air had been weird there and he wasn’t keen on returning to where he and Fundy had almost died. But he vowed not to be afraid of Dream. He was just a strange green man in a mask. What kind of harm could a man in a hoodie be to him, Tommy Innit?

He moved to the side of the counter, waiting expectantly for Wilbur to give him a task, as he’d done every night since the second night he’d moved in. Wilbur didn’t disappoint, handing Tommy a knife and a carrot with instructions to chop them up into pieces.

“What are you making?” Tommy asked.

“Soup,” Wilbur replied. “Take note of what I do so you can make it yourself someday.”

Tommy did his best to follow his brother’s instructions without too much complaining, listening closely even as Wilbur hummed half finished songs under his breath and stirred the pot full of chicken and potatoes. The smell of soup filled the van. At the booth, Fundy drew with her precious pack of crayons, probably designing her next trap. It was peaceful here in the van, Tommy had learned. Wilbur took the time to teach him things, like building or cooking soup and he looked forward to when Wilbur wasn’t going into the Nether to do whatever. Life was good. Though he’d never admit it to anyone, he hoped it never changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy mother of all the gods guys, it took me forever to write this whole thing out. and then half way through the second part, i started making character playlists on spotify so i could actually comprehend how certain characters act and stuff like that. i literally only have six characters down and i can assure you at least two of them are c!techno, c!tommy and c!wilbur. plus c!ranboo because i adore memory boy
> 
> anyhow, i hope you guys enjoy this new chapter! :D i was so happy to see so many of you liked the first two in the first place. feel free to leave comments if you guys want, just remember to be kind :)
> 
> im gonna go to bed now lmao


	4. Add Some Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for the wrong pronouns for fundy
> 
> speedran writing this chapter because i was actually interested in what was going on. we're finally starting to get into the OG l'manberg gang and i'm excited :D

Tommy woke up before Wilbur, which was a rare occurrence. Wilbur went to sleep at odd times. The soul lantern he kept at his sleeping place rarely went out and Tommy had laid in his booth, thinking about what he could possibly be doing back there. But today, Wilbur was sleeping in. So Tommy slipped his shoes on and stepped outside into the crisp morning air. He surveyed the clearing a little before heading over to his carrot patch. Wilbur had made it for him a few days into living in the van, saying he needed to have at least one chore. He’d complained about it at first. It felt a bit pointless to take care of carrots when he could hunt or explore. But now, he kind of liked it. Carrots were easy enough to take care of, now that he had the hang of things. He could pass a lot of time, pulling out weeds and giving them water.

Tommy wasn’t aware of time passing until Wilbur wandered outside. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his favorite yellow sweater and he’d donned his glasses. He yawned widely, showing off canines that were maybe a little sharper than average, and wandered over Tommy.

“How goes the carrots?” he said.

Tommy shrugged. “They’re not grown yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Hm.” Wilbur stuck his hands in his pockets and looked off into the woods. “Take a walk with me?”

Trying but failing not to look too eager, Tommy sprung to his feet and dusted his hands off on his pants. Wilbur waited for him with a slight smile on his face, lanky legs walking slow when Tommy finally caught up. They walked into the forest together in silence for a little bit. The birds sang songs among the branches of the trees that wove together above their heads, creating the illusion of a roof even as the sun peeked through the gaps. Wilbur reached up and pulled a small apple from a low hanging branch and then picked another one, rubbing it on his sweater and handing it to Tommy. He took a big bite out of his own, chewing carefully.

“How are you, Tommy?” he said after he’d swallowed his bite. “I keep meaning to ask but between my Nether trips and trying to make sure you and Fundy eat something, I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“I’m doing alright,” Tommy replied. He flicked a beetle off of his apple and took a bite. With his mouth still full, he added. “I wish you wouldn’t leave me with Fundy so much. It’s not that I don’t like Fundy, it’s just fucking boring here without you.”

Wilbur hummed. “I know, and I’m sorry I have to be gone so much. I promise you, once I sort out this thing I’m working on, you’ll be the first to know. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Wilbur took another bite out of his apple, a look of contemplation crossing his face. “I think I’m going to teach you how to use a sword soon.”

Tommy’s face brightened. “Really?”

He’d tried to take out the old iron one Wilbur used to hunt and kill monsters that got too close, but it was forged for someone like Wilbur and it was a bit heavy. Not to mention Wilbur had told him off when he’d caught him. “Swords aren’t toys, Tommy,” Wilbur had said. “You shouldn’t touch one until you know what you’re doing or else, you’ll lose a bloody finger and I’m good at first aid, but I’m not  _ that _ good.”

“Yeah, I reckon you should learn. Especially if you and Fundy are going to be on your own so much. Monsters are dangerous. I don’t want you two blowing up.” Wilbur bit into the apple again, then added “That doesn’t mean you seek out monsters though. Especially creepers. Not until you’re strong enough to deal with them on your own. Got that?”

Tommy nodded. “I’m going to be as good as Technoblade,” he vowed. “You fucking wait and see, Wil.”

The older man laughed a little, though not unkindly. “I can’t wait to see it, Tommy.”

The sound of metal clanging made the pair pause. It wasn’t common to see people in this part of the forest—Wilbur had mentioned several times he’d purposefully moved away from the more civilized parts of the server to avoid people and to have someplace quiet to raise Fundy—and this didn’t sound like armor.

“What the fuck is that?” Wilbur said, his voice noticeably quieter than it had been when they’d set out.

It took Tommy a few minutes to properly identify the sound. The clanging wasn’t consistent, sporadically sounding before petering out and starting back up again. But then he remembered Fundy tying some scraps of metal to her trap to serve as an alert for when it had been triggered. That must have been the source.

“I think it’s Fundy’s trap,” Tommy said. He’d dropped his voice as well, though he wasn’t sure why. “Something must be in it.”

“The one for skeletons?”

Tommy nodded.

“Well whatever it is, I don’t think it’s a fucking skeleton. You’d hear bones rattling for one.”

Wilbur summoned the iron sword from his inventory and stepped in front of Tommy, walking towards the noise. He walked cautiously, as if any misstep could result in death. When they came into the smaller clearing, they found the trap had indeed been sprung. The complex ropeways had been triggered exactly how Fundy had intended, the pulley system Fundy had engineered keeping the rope intact and the net upright, but still capable of being lowered if one tugged the right rope. But Wilbur had been correct when he’d said it wasn’t a skeleton. It was a boy.

The boy was upside down, which could possibly explain why the clanging metal was so sporadic. He wore an oversized green button down that had been buttoned incorrectly and his jeans were dirty and long, covering his shoes as he kicked furiously at the net yet again, setting off the primitive alarm. His dark brown hair was messy and dirty, but his face looked relatively clean and a pair of goat ears peaked out from the mop of hair on his head.

Tommy felt his heart leap in his chest as he recognized the boys face. He took a step forward, ignoring how Wilbur grabbed his shoulder to pull him back.

“Tubbo?” he said, his voice loud enough to echo.

The ringing stopped.

The boy twisted his head around and looked at the newcomers with an unidentifiable expression on his face until he realized who Tommy was. Then his face broke out into a huge grin.

“Tommy!” he cried. “Where’ve you been, man?”

“With Wilbur,” Tommy replied, distracted. “Where the fuck have you been? I lost you like a fucking month ago and couldn’t find you. I nearly thought you were fucking dead!”

“Got a bit turned around with directions, I think,” Tubbo said. “Then I met this fellow in a green hoodie with a mask and he said I could stay in his server if I wanted. Dunno why he wanted me here though. Then I ended up in this damn thing and—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Wilbur interrupted. “Hold on a second. You two  _ know _ each other?”

“Yeah!” Tommy turned to Wilbur, grinning. “Tubbo’s my best mate! We’ve been through a lot of scraps together, me and him.”

“Why is he in a net?”

Tommy went to reply, then frowned and turned towards Tubbo. “Tubbo, why  _ are _ you in a net?”

“Oh! The demon legs were after me last night while I was wandering the woods and then I ended up here.” Tubbo plucked at one of the strands, a strange vibrating noise filling the air. “They apparently don’t understand how nets work. Can you get me down by the way?”

“Shit yeah, hold on a second.”

Tommy walked over to the tree Fundy had secured and began to tug at various ropes, muttering to himself.

“Is it this one? No, no, not this one. Where the hell is the bastard?”

“Tommy.”

Tommy looked at Wilbur, who had put away his sword and pulled out a knife instead.

“Let me do it?”

Tommy stepped aside and watched as Wilbur pulled out a rope seemingly at random and sliced it with the knife. The ropes ran through the pulleys and the net containing Tubbo fell to the ground. Tubbo grunted at the impact. Tommy hurried back over and began untangling his friend from the net, trying not to rip it in case Fundy wanted to use it later. When both boys were net free and Tommy had finished dusting Tubbo off a bit, they wrapped each other in a big hug, heads buried into each other's shoulders. Though Tommy could take care of himself and was happy with Wilbur and Fundy, he was glad to see Tubbo alive and well.

Wilbur was leaning against the tree when they finally let go of each other, contemplating the boys with an unidentifiable expression on his face. He pushed off from the tree and extended his hand towards Tubbo.

“I’m Wilbur,” he said. “Please to meet you, Tubbo.”

Tubbo beamed and shook the older man’s hand. “Hello! Sorry I was in your net.”

“Wasn’t really my net, it was my daughters.” Wilbur knelt down and began to collect the net, wrapping it up in a neat bundle and storing it away in his inventory. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

“Come along then. It’s about the time I usually cook breakfast.”

Wilbur turned on his heel and began walking back towards the van, trusting the boys to follow. Tommy grinned at Tubbo and launched into a conversation as soon as they started walking.

“So where the fuck have you been? I was looking for you everywhere.”

“Well I told you, I got a bit turned around,” Tubbo replied. “One minute, I’m near Hypixel, the next, this fellow in a mask is asking me if I’d like to come here, so I said yeah, sure. It’s really cool here, Tommy.”

“Yeah, it is.” Tommy pushed a low hanging branch out of the way and held it so Tubbo could walk without getting hindered. “I found Wilbur about two or three weeks ago. He said he’d buy the foot I found, but he also said I could live with him.”

“Are you still on about foot?”

“It’s a  _ very _ good business to be in, Tubbo.”

“Whatever you say, big man. Will Wilbur let me stay with him if I ask nicely?”

“Probably. Wilbur’s really cool like that.”

Fundy was sitting outside when they came back to the clearing, sitting at the picnic table and drawing something onto a piece of paper again. She looked up at the sound of the boys talking, her ears twitching. Wilbur reached her first, ruffling her hair and smiling. Tommy couldn’t hear what they were saying until he and Tubbo finally came within range.

“Your trap worked well, Fundy!” Wilbur was saying, his voice chipper. “But it didn’t catch what you were going for. I had to cut one of the ropes and I’m sorry for that, but you don’t need to worry about the entire net being broken! I’ve got it in my inventory if you’d like to try again at some point.”

Fundy frowned. “I’ll go back and rerig it at some point,” she mumbled, her ears still low. She noticed Tubbo, her ears swivelling towards the boys. “Who’s he?”

“This is Tubbo,” Wilbur said. “He’s going to live with us now.”

“Hello!” Tubbo said.

Fundy tilted her head. “Like Tommy?”

“Mhm!” Wilbur rolled up his sleeves and headed for the door. “You lot try not to burn anything down out here and I’ll make some breakfast.”

The boys sat next to each with Fundy, kicking each other under the table. Fundy regarded Tubbo silently, yellow fox eyes catching the light.

“Where’d you come from?” she asked eventually.

“Dunno,” Tubbo replied. “But I’m happy to be here. Tommy mentioned the trap I got caught in was yours?”

“Yes,” Fundy said, her voice suddenly sounding guarded. “I designed it and made the rope.”

“It’s very good! I’m sorry I got caught in it though. A spider was chasing me and I didn’t know where to go.”

“Oh.” Fundy’s expression brightened. “Then I guess it’s okay you got caught in it.”

“It was really well made,” Tubbo added. “I couldn’t figure out how to get out.”

Fundy beamed. “Thank you! I’m working on a spider trap next, but I can’t figure out how to make the rope so they can’t get out. Right now, I blend grass and spider string together but obviously, spiders can just dissolve the string and get out.”

“What if you used honey?”

The fox hybrid tilted her head to the side. “How would that help?”

“Honey is pretty sticky. Slimeballs might also work, but I didn’t see any nearby swamps where you could find slimes.”

“What if you used honey nets to catch animals and slime nets to catch spiders?” Tommy added.

Fundy began to write down a list of supplies she needed in her messy, childish scrawl. Or at least, Tommy  _ assumed _ that’s what she was doing. He couldn’t read. She was using a red crayon to sketch out two different designs on a new piece of paper. The sketches weren’t really comprehensible to Tommy, but Fundy must have been able to understand what each line meant.

Wilbur came outside with a large stake of pancakes balanced precariously on one plate and four others in the other hand. He set the pancake plate down on the middle of the table, gently pushing Fundy’s box of crayons and stack of paper away. He set each of the slightly chipped plates in front of a kid and one on the opposite side of Fundy where he intended to sit.

“Tommy, don’t pick up the pancake with your hand, that’s disgusting,” Wilbur scolded.

Tommy yanked his hand back and glared at Wilbur, who ignored him in favor for ducking back inside the van to grab napkins and forks. As more of a last minute decision, he pulled out a small bottle of honey he’d bought from the village awhile ago and set it on the table. With practiced ease, he gave everyone two pancakes and handed them forks. Fundy took her papers and put them on the bench next to her, putting the box of crayons on top to prevent them from flying away.

“Try not to use too much honey if you want some,” Wilbur said, noticing Tommy pouring a generous amount on his pancakes. “I haven’t found any bees yet to have a replenishable stock.”

“Can I have some please?” Tubbo said.

Tommy wordlessly handed him the vial and cut a chunk of his pancakes off, shoving it into his mouth with a satisfied hum. Wilbur was a good cook as long as the dish wasn’t too fancy. Pancakes were about as simple as simple could come, so he rarely messed them up. They were perfectly fluffy and golden brown. Tommy loved to have them for breakfast almost as he loved the much rarer fried eggs.

He watched Tubbo closely from the corner of his eye, taking note as the other boy carefully sliced into his pancakes and took a tentative bite. He made an appreciative sound and began to eat with more gusto, dunking his bite-sized portions into the honey that pooled on his plate.

“Tubbo, I think you’re going to have to sleep on the other booth in the van like Tommy does for now,” Wilbur said. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to fit a bed in for Tommy but haven’t been able to, let alone another kid. I’m sorry we’ve got such a shit living situation at the moment.”

“That’s alright!” Tubbo said. “I’ve slept in worse places. At least a cramped van will be dryer than the base of a tree.”

Wilbur frowned but didn’t say anything, just continued to eat his pancakes.

“Tubbo, d’you want to help me with my carrot patch?” Tommy said.

“You have a carrot patch?”

“Yeah, Wilbur made me make one. It’s actually pretty fucking cool, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh! Maybe I could get some bees and the carrots could grow faster! But I’ll have to find a hive first.”

“Do you know how to take care of bees?” Wilbur said, tilting his head to the side.

“Yup! When me and Tommy were wandering around together, I used to get us honey to go with whatever he’d caught for a meal at that time. Bees like me as much as cows like Tommy.” Tubbo beamed.

Wilbur’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “You can check the material chest for extra wood, if you’d like. It’d be nice to have more honey around here.”

“No problem!”

The boys ate their pancakes much more quickly than Wilbur or Fundy. When they were done, Tommy took Tubbo to his carrot patch, gesturing to their green tops with no short amount of pride.

“I used to only have a few but now I have more,” he was saying. “When I harvest this next batch, I want to expand a bit. Maybe your beehives could go near here?”

“Maybe,” Tubbo replied. “I still need to find a wild hive before we get that far ahead. I’m hoping one’s nearby.”

Tommy nudged the head of one of the carrots with the tip of his shoe, leaning against a fence post. “Hey Tubbo, you mentioned you saw a masked man when you came here, right?”

“Yeah, he’s the one who let me in. Why?”

“Well, I didn’t see him when I came here,” he said. “I was in one spot and then I was in another. I only met him yesterday because me and Fundy almost got blown up by a creeper. He saved us.”

“Does he have a name?”

“He said it was Dream,” Tommy said. He knelt down and pulled the beginnings of a weed out of the ground, surprised he’d missed one earlier. “Wilbur doesn’t seem to like him much. I don’t know why.”

“He’s a bit weird, isn’t he?” Tubbo launched himself onto the fence, kicking his feet back and forth gently. “I mean, he walks so quietly. And I’ve never met anyone who wears a mask like that.”

Tommy shrugged. “He’s a bitch,” he decided. “Wilbur said we’re not supposed to bother him or his friends if we can avoid it.”

“Well, I don’t really want to go anywhere near him for now,” Tubbo said. “Besides, its nice here. I’m glad I found you.”

Tommy smiled a little. “I’ll help you with the beehive, if you’d like.”

Tubbo perked up. “Really?”

“Yeah! As long as you help me convince Wilbur to let me have a cow.”

* * *

Wilbur spun the sword around slowly, trying to get his wrist used to the steady movements and subtle shifts he’d once been so good at performing. Since becoming a father and largely retiring from the road, he’d grown lax in his sword fighting. The most action the old iron blade saw was that of a zombie or a wayward creeper. More recently, he’d been using it to block ghast blasts while he gathered their tears in the Nether. He could imagine what Technoblade would say about its condition. He probably would’ve told him to make a new one at this point.

Across from him stood Tommy, swinging his wooden sword around and pretending to best imaginary foes. Fundy and Tubbo sat nearby, sharing crayons and watching both of them every so often even as they drew and kept a conversation of their own.

Two days had passed since Tubbo had joined their little family and he’d been a welcome addition. Whereas Tommy largely needed to be taught how to do certain things or told to wash his hands, Tubbo seemed content to hunt for his bees and watch Fundy when asked. Both boys were an absolute menace together—Tubbo turned out to be smarter than he looked, supplying Fundy with more trap ideas while trying to figure out ways they could increase their food supply without foraging and hunting so much anymore. Though Wilbur’s concern that the van was getting a bit crowded now was still very valid, Tubbo didn’t feel like he took up as much space as Tommy, who had a tendency of leaving dirty laundry in the strangest of places. Tubbo had thanked Wilbur multiple times for giving him the other booth to sleep in and both boys talked to each other in hushed tones well past the time when Tommy would’ve normally nodded off.

Best of all, though Tubbo brought more chaos when he and Tommy were planning something, he also made Tommy a bit calmer. Where the young boy would’ve normally complained about watching Fundy while Wilbur went off to the Nether to get supplies, he now eagerly joined the other boy and the fox hybrid on various quests that had resulted in more than a few creeper holes in their clearing. Both boys had more energy than Fundy combined, but they tired each other out, much to Wilbur’s relief. It was a good trade off.

“Tommy,” he said, snapping out of his thoughts.

The younger boy finally stopped spinning his sword around and turned to look at Wilbur.

“Pay attention. Swords aren’t toys and you could get hurt if you don’t.”

“I know, I know,” Tommy said, waving him off. “They’re big knives. But I want to win battles  _ now _ , Wilbur.”

“It takes a lot more than fancy swinging to win battles,” Wilbur said, smiling. He approached Tommy and adjusted the younger boy's stance, curling his fingers into the proper position on the sword. “It all starts in the way you stand. Keep your legs too close together and you’ll lose your balance. Have them too far apart, and you won’t be able to move fast enough. If you stand too straight, it’s all the same thing. You don’t need to be particularly strong to be good at fighting, but what you  _ do _ need to be, is smart. Do you understand, Tommy?”

Tommy nodded, smiling.

Wilbur turned away and walked a short distance, raising his sword the correct amount. “Try to disarm me,” he said.

Almost immediately, Tommy charged him, waving the sword above his head. Wilbur quickly side stepped him and worked his sword under the boy’s wrist, twisting sharply. The wooden sword was forced out of Tommy’s hands and fell to the dirt beneath their feet. The younger boy stood there for a minute, staring at it.

“What the fuck?” he said, nearly deadpan.

Wilbur laughed. “Do you want to know how I knew what you’d do?”

Tommy nodded, kneeling down to pick up his weapon.

“Your shoulders and your hips,” he said. “You turn them when you want to do something. It indicates what direction you want to go. When you get better, it’ll be your hips I’ll have to pay attention to. But for now, try to fool me. Don’t turn your shoulders.”

Tommy nodded again, a look of fierce determination overtaking his face. This time, he didn’t charge, but moved slowly, holding his sword in a loose grip. When he finally moved, Wilbur’s sword met his and batted it away, but he didn’t see an opening for disarming yet. He waited patiently for Tommy to attack again. This time, Tommy managed to last for a few minutes instead of nanoseconds, blocking Wilbur's attacks and moving his arm away before Wilbur could think to disarm him. But eventually, he got too confident and Wilbur saw his move. The wooden sword flew out of his grasp and landed several feet away again.

“What the fuck!” Tommy exclaimed. He walked over to where his sword laid and snatched it up, letting an angry huff leave his nose.

“It’s alright Tommy,” Wilbur said. “You aren’t going to get this in one go. C’mon, let’s keep at it.”

Training with Tommy reminded Wilbur of the years he’d spent at home, sparring with Techno, Phil teaching the both of them how to fight everything and anything that came their way. Wilbur had thought he was a decent enough swordsman in the beginning—after all, he was Philza fucking Minecraft's son—but the first time he and Techno had properly sparred, he remembered being covered in bruises by the time they were finished. He’d laid on the sand in the fighting pit Philza had made, winded and worn, only for Techno to hold out his hand to help him up. The piglin hybrid had looked more human that day, pig features almost entirely gone if not for the sharp ears and small tusks that were beginning to grow in from his bottom jaw.

Wilbur never particularly took their sparring matches very seriously before he’d left. Once they were older, he’d long since accepted Techno would always be better than him when it came to combat, just as he was better at talking to people. It was balanced. That being said, Wilbur was by no means poor at combat. He’d still been trained by Phil, the same as Techno, even if that training had slacked off a considerable amount by the time he was eighteen. He just didn’t like to fight as much.

The sun had nearly set by the time Tommy got a lucky shot and managed to disarm Wilbur. Both of them were covered in a thin layer of sweat and Wilbur was certain his hair was more of a mess than it usually was. But his iron sword had still fallen out of his hand. He was panting as he looked up at Tommy, who just looked surprised he’d succeeded. The wooden sword Wilbur had made early that morning was full of nicks and looked like it was on its last legs already.

Wilbur leaned down and picked up his sword, dusting the dirt off of it and stowing it away in his inventory. He smiled at Tommy, who still looked dumbfounded.

“Well done,” Wilbur said quietly.

Tommy looked up at him and grinned. The older man reached out and ruffled his hair, then walked in the direction of the van.

“Come on, you lot,” he called out behind him. “It’s time for dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the playlists i made definitely seem to be helping me write these bois properly and im very pleased with myself regarding that idea. ironically, c!tubbo was a lot easier to understand without a playlist, but i think that's because i went through a tubbo stream binge a few days ago since him and ranboo were playing a lot together and i was interested
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed this new chapter! i dunno if ill be able to update as much as i have been this past week since ill have classes to do work for next week, but let's hope for the best case scenario :)


	5. Heatstroke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for fundy's pronouns and dry-heaving/mentions of nausea

The heat of the Nether was oppressive. It clung to everything, sinking its claws deep under the skin and causing problems long after anyone who wasn’t a native had left. Wilbur was accustomed to the never ending heatwave, the dryness in the air. He’d long since found ways to keep his lips from cracking too badly, was careful not to stay in the Nether for too long incase he got too dehydrated. But even still, he had a tendency of being a bit of a risk taker. He kept going back into the Nether, day after day after day, even after the skin on his hands became cracked and his arms turned red after he came too close to a lavafall one day.

He tried to conceal the toll his frequent Nether trips were having on his body from the kids. Fortunately, he usually bathed when they were out or asleep. They couldn’t see the lava burns he sought to hide, the way he gulped at water when he came home, hoping to quench the thirst that always seemed to linger in his throat. Wilbur felt like he was burning up, bit by bit, trying to gather the blaze rods he needed, the ghast tears, the nether wart. It was beginning to pile up.

He leaned against the nether brick walls of the fortress, wiping the sheen of sweat off of his face for what felt like the millionth time. He’d donned a t-shirt instead of a sweater, though he still wore his jeans after brushing too close to a magma cube one day and acquiring a unique new scar on his knee. He felt tired. He wanted to rest. But Wilbur Soot had never been the kind of man to quit a project before it was finished, and he wasn’t about to start now.

He took a few steps forward, blinking rapidly as his vision began to spin. Surely he hadn’t been in the Nether that long. Surely he still had a few more hours? But he could feel his vision encroaching on him, feel the ground coming closer and closer. Wilbur had just enough presence of mind to push his sword away from his body so he wouldn’t fall on it. Not that that would matter in the end. If he didn’t get out of the Nether soon, he’d die anyways.

* * *

Tommy waited for Wilbur by the portal until he was forced to go inside because the monsters were beginning to come out. He closed the door to the van, locking it the same way he’d seen Wilbur do for a month now, and tried not to let his hands shake while he was doing it. Fundy and Tubbo were sitting at the booth across from each other. Both of them looked worried.

“Was he there?” Fundy asked.

Tommy shook his head slowly.

Fundy’s expression fell. She looked close to tears.

“Hey, maybe he just got caught up with something,” Tommy said, trying for an optimistic tone. “He’ll be back by tomorrow.”

Fundy’s lower lip wobbled and she ducked her head, sniffling. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Maybe.”

“C’mon, Fundy,” Tubbo said. He got up from the booth and gently pulled the younger girl out from Tommy’s side. “Let’s help Tommy make dinner. You know he’ll start some sort of fire without us.”

Fundy didn’t smile at his joke like she normally would’ve, but dutifully began peeling the two potatoes Tubbo pulled from the cupboard. Tommy took out a bit of chicken breast they had in the refrigerator and moved out of the way so Tubbo could grab some of the carrots he’d harvested the day before. The two worked close together at the counter, their shoulders touching, but neither one acknowledged it like they would’ve if Wilbur was home. The entire van was full of tense, anxious energy that hung around them all and fell on their chests like heavy, weighted blankets. None of them could escape from its grasp.

It was Tubbo who brought out the pot they used for soup and filled it from the sink. He set it on the stove and lit it with a match the same way Wilbur had taught him, careful not to let the gas get too high. Tommy remained deep in thought as he sliced the chicken breast into chunks. It’d already been cooked before and now only needed to be warmed up, thankfully. He didn’t know how to cook chicken properly yet.

_ What’ll we do if Wil doesn’t come back home _ ? he thought to himself.  _ He’s got to come back. He’s got to. Fundy needs him.  _ I _ need him _ .

“Tommy, can you grab some of those herbs Wilbur likes to put in the soup?” Tubbo said.

Tommy pulled out an empty bucket and used it as a stepladder, pulling out a small glass jar full of leaves. He handed it down to Tubbo, who thanked him quietly and set about putting a few of the leaves in the pot, combining a few other spices Tommy couldn’t recognize. Tubbo often went inside the van when Wilbur cooked, paying closer attention than Tommy had ever cared to before, which made him second best at cooking. He had a habit of sniffing things to tell if they were good or not, as he was currently doing with another jar of spices they kept outside of one of the cabinets. Evidently, it was good enough for him, and he shook a little bit into the pot.

“Should we save the peels for the composter?” Fundy asked.

“Probably,” Tommy replied. “If we get enough of those, we can stock up on bone meal.”

Fundy nodded, quiet once more. She began to slice the potatoes into large chunks. Tubbo took over when it was clear the five-year-old-who-was-actually-seven had no idea what she was doing and was simply copying what she’d seen Wil and Tommy do together. She sat at the table, staring at the wood grain in silence. When the soup was finally done, Tommy pulled out three bowls and carefully poured soup into them with the ladle like he’d seen Wilbur do before. He wasn’t nearly as neat, cursing as he spilled soup on the counter and the floor, puddles he’d need to clean up later.

He set each of the bowls on the table and sat down next to Fundy, who swirled her spoon around listlessly, barely eating even as Tommy tried to nudge her to eat.

_ If Wil doesn’t come back _ , Tommy thought.  _ I’ll have to take care of them both _ .

The thought made Tommy pause. He could take care of himself fairly well. He’d been doing it for as long as he could remember. If he’d had parents, he didn’t remember them at all. But other than Tubbo, he hadn’t really looked out for anyone else. What did he know about taking care of a fox hybrid who was more fey than human? He knew he would take care of her, if need be. She was as much of his niece as Wilbur was his brother, and he’d do anything for either of them within a heartbeat. He met Tubbo’s eyes from across the table and tried to convey his worry. Tubbo nodded once, with a twin expression on his face and went back to his soup.

The children didn’t eat much.

“We should probably just go to bed then,” Tommy said after a while. He was trying to make it sound like he knew what he was doing. “Maybe things will be better in the morning.”

Tubbo and Fundy nodded, the latter nudging Tommy’s arm so he would move out of her way. She disappeared into the back of the van, tail dragging on the floor behind her. Tubbo and Tommy got ready for bed in silence, pulling on softer shirts Wilbur had initially made for Tommy to sleep in. Tommy had shared them with Tubbo, who was more or less the same size as him.

Tommy turned off the lantern in the kitchen, and dimmed the one above the booth but he hesitated before he could lay down on his booth. Tubbo sat on the edge of his, his hooves exposed, furry goat legs peeking out from underneath the shorts Tommy had given him to sleep in. Neither boy felt safe sleeping where they usually did. The entire van felt too empty, too big without Wilbur sitting on his bed just a few feet away. Silently, they had a conversation with each other, debating whether or not they should go to Fundy or stay where they were. Tommy was uncertain. Tubbo was not.

Eventually, both boys headed towards the back of the van, scooting behind storage chests. Fundy’s bed lay empty, her sheets kicked away. They continued on to the very back of the van where Wilbur’s space was. They pulled aside the curtains and found her in the middle of the numerous blankets, cuddling Wilbur’s stuffed orca. She was facing them, anthropomorphic fox once more. Her tail was curled around her legs and a steady stream of tears leaked from her eyes.

“It still smells like him,” she said softly, then pressed her face into the orca, sobbing.

Without exchanging glances, Tommy and Tubbo clambered into bed after her, not even bothering to turn off the soul lantern near the head of the bed. They laid on either side of Fundy, with Tubbo’s back closest to the curtain, wrapping their arms around her gently, their fingers touching each other's sides in the process. Tommy had never thought of Fundy as particularly small—she was fairly tall for her age—but in that moment, she looked as tiny as a fox kit, her ears flattened against her head, body shaking as she tried to keep her crying silent. She never let go of the orca.

Both boys exchanged looks over the top of her head once she’d fallen asleep, both of them exhausted and just as scared as Fundy was, but they were used to being scared and having to hide it. They’d never really had the kind of stability Fundy had always grown up with, generally being able to count on one parent figure to always be there to talk to or have around in general. And though it hadn’t been very long at all, they’d grown attached to Wilbur and the simple ways he made them feel safe. So they all held on tight to each other and fell asleep in Wilbur’s bed.

_ Please, Wilbur _ , Tommy thought as unconsciousness began to drag him down.  _ Please come home _ .

* * *

When Wilbur awoke, a damp cloth had been placed on his forehead. The cloth felt cold and soothing against his warm skin and he couldn’t help but wish the feeling would spread everywhere, even though he hated being wet. He was laying on something soft and comforting, though from what he could remember, he’d passed out on the floor of a Nether fortress, succumbing to the heat and likely suffering a bit of heatstroke.

He went to sit up, but felt a hand gently push him back onto the bed.

“Easy there,” a rich, deep voice said close to his ear. “You had quite a fall.”

Wilbur’s eyes fluttered open. The shapes around him looked blurry and indistinct and it took several tries before he was able to focus on anything coherent. The first thing he saw was the thin walls of a white tent. The fabric was fairly close to his face, treated so water wouldn’t come through during storms. The next thing he noticed was a man leaning over him.

The man had curly hair, similar to Wilbur’s, only longer and generally better kept. He had sunglasses on his face and a simple gray t-shirt. His skin was pale and he was doing his best to change out the cloth on Wilbur’s forehead, lips pressed together in what must have been concern.

“Where the hell am I?” Wilbur groaned. His body felt like it’d been run over by a horse.

“You’re in my tent,” the man replied. His deep voice was soft and held a note of amusement in it. “Though if you’d like to be more specific, you’re in a taiga forest in a server called the Dream SMP and I pulled you out of the Nether after witnessing you collapse due to the worst case of heatstroke I’ve ever bore witness to in my entire life.”

Wilbur groaned. The cloth on his forehead was lifted off and replaced by another fresher, colder cloth.

“How’s your stomach feel?” the man asked. “Think you could hold down some water?”

Wilbur blinked. He still felt dizzy and his throat felt parched. He nodded his head slowly. The man got up and poured water into a small glass cup, filling it half way. He held it in one hand for Wilbur, using the other to gently tilt his head up. Wilbur drank it greedily. He felt his stomach flip a little, but forced himself not to get sick. Already, his throat felt less dry.

“Better?” the man said when the glass had been drained.

He set it down on the top of a chest, laying Wilbur’s head back down onto his pillow with care.

“Much. Thank you.”

The man smiled. “My name is Eret,” he offered.

“Wilbur. Wilbur Soot.”

“I’d offer to shake your hand, but I think that’s a bit much right now.”

“Why were you in the fortress, Eret?”

“Same as you, I suspect. Gathering blaze rods.”

“I take it you were a bit smarter about it though.”

“You could say that.”

Wilbur winced as another round of nausea went through his body. He clamped his mouth shut and tried to breathe slowly through his nose, thinking about anything other than how sick he felt.

“You should be fine after the heatstroke passes,” Eret said. “I’d give you a potion of healing for your lungs, but I’m worried you’ll just spit it back up right now, so we’ll have to wait.”

Wilbur nodded, closing his eyes. He could deal with a little bedrest for now, he decided. When he was done, he’d be able to go home to Fundy and the boys, and make sure they were okay. It must have been past noon now. He hoped they were alright. Then he heard a nearby zombie groan and his eyes snapped open. He tried to get up again, only to have Eret push him back down.

“I told you, you can’t get up right now,” he said.

“Fundy—I-I need to get back to Fundy and Tommy—” he stammered. “What fucking time is it?”

Eret frowned and glanced at a wristwatch on his right arm. Wilbur hadn’t noticed it before.

“Two hours after sunset,” the man said mildly.

“Fuck,” Wilbur said, trying to get to his feet again. “Shit.”

“Wilbur, you  _ can’t _ get up right now—” Eret said, trying again to push him back down only to be shoved away by Wilbur, who fell out of the bed with a loud thump.

He pushed himself to his knees, trying desperately to get up but the nausea come back full force. He only just barely managed to avoid getting sick, but didn’t succeed in avoiding dry heaving, clutching his stomach and shaking as his body fought with him for several minutes. He was barely aware of Eret, who’d gotten out of his chair to sit on the floor with him, rubbing his back soothingly and whispering words Wilbur couldn’t quite make out over the sound of his retching. His entire body felt too warm and too cold at the same time, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin. He dully realized he’d had his shirt and socks removed, though Eret had left his pants on. Both lay on another chest a few footsteps away, his boots nearby.

When his body finally calmed itself again, Wilbur leaned into Eret, who’s shirt was soft against his cheek and who’s chest was reassuringly solid after the several minutes the other man had endured of floating in some space too far away from his body, yet too close to escape the pain. Now that he was back on their plane of existence, he could hear Eret softly shooshing him, rubbing his back gently like you would a sick child.

“It’s alright,” Eret said softly. His voice was barely more than a rumble at that point. “It’s alright.”

“Help me back into the bed?” Wilbur asked.

Wordlessly, Eret locked one of his arms underneath Wilbur's and tucked the other underneath the backside of his knees, picking him up tenderly. He did it slowly, so Wilbur’s nausea wouldn’t return, gently settling him back onto the bed and tucking the blankets back around him. He leaned over and picked up the wet cloth from where it’d fallen off on the floor and placed it on Wilbur’s forehead again, brushing aside his curls so it came in contact with the most skin possible.

“Thank you,” Wilbur said quietly.

“No problem,” Eret replied. He picked at the edge of his thumb for a moment, contemplating the skin, before he spoke again, his voice a bit louder. “Who’s Fundy and Tommy?”

“Tommy is my little brother,” Wilbur said. “Fundy is my daughter.”

“Ah. How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Oh.” Eret’s expression changed. “I see.”

“If you’re going to be a judgmental prick because I became a father at eighteen, I’d prefer it if you’d have left me in the Nether to die,” Wilbur said, his voice sharpening. A piercing headache started at his temples and echoed through the rest of his head, making him wince and close his eyes reflexively.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Eret said hurriedly, holding his hands up. “It’s just, I understand why you were so panicked now.”

“You have siblings?”

“No. But I think if I did, I’d react the same way.”

He fell silent, picking at his thumb again.

_ His fingers are long _ , Wilbur notes.  _ They’d be good at piano. _

“Why weren’t you paying attention to how much time you spent in the Nether?” Eret asked after a while.

Wilbur shrugged. “I didn’t think I’d been there that long.”

“You should probably not go into the Nether again for a while, if you can avoid it.”

Wilbur frowned, turning his head slightly to look at the other man. He couldn’t see his eyes from behind the dark lenses of the sunglasses, something that bothered him a bit. Wilbur liked to make eye contact with people. It helped him tell what other people were feeling.

“Why not?” he said.

“You’ll get sick again,” Eret said. “You need to give your body time to rest, outside of that hellhole for a bit. Harvesting blaze rods isn’t just dangerous because they can kill you with fire. They emit the most heat compared to other Nether mobs, making you dehydrate much faster than if you were just standing next to a lava lake.”

Wilbur groaned and draped his left arm over his eyes. “Now you tell me.”

Eret smiled. “If you’d like, you can have some of mine. I have plenty.”

Wilbur moved his arm away. He looked at Eret with raised eyebrows. “You’d give me some?”

“Yeah! I don’t mind. If giving you some of my blaze rods keeps you from the Nether for a bit, I’m happy to help out.”

Wilbur smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

It was Wilbur’s turn to fidget with the blankets, noting the softness of the fabric and how neat the stitching was. The top blanket was a thin quilt, the color of cornflowers. The bottom sheets were plain white.

“D’you think I could have a bit more water now?”

Eret turned towards the chest and poured another half glass of water in. He set the jug back on the lid and leaned over Wilbur, supporting his head again.

“Careful,” Eret warned. “You might get sick if you drink too fast.”

Wilbur drained the whole glass before speaking again, coughing slightly. “How long do you think I’ll have to stay here?”

“A day or two, maybe. I was lucky enough to find you just after you collapsed, I think. As long as you don’t do anything too foolish, it shouldn’t take that long.”

“I can’t wait a day or two, I need to get back to the kids soon,” Wilbur said.

He was trying to push down the rising panic in his chest, the way he suddenly felt trapped inside the tent. He was somewhat confident that Tommy and Tubbo could manage on their own for a short while, but Fundy had never been away from him for more than a few hours at a time. She must have been so scared. He desperately wanted to be back in the van with her, reassuring her that daddy wasn’t going to disappear, not like her mother had in the middle of the night suddenly.

“Hey,  _ breathe _ ,” Eret said softly. “I need you to breathe with me, nice and slow. Breathe in for the count of seven, hold for seven and then release for the same amount of time. Okay?”

He pressed his hand against Wilbur’s chest and Wilbur tried to do as Eret had instructed, forcing his chest to rise and fall steadily until his heart was no longer racing.

“Good, very good.” Eret smiled. “Want to talk to me about those kids you mentioned?”

“You’d want to hear about them?”

“It might help keep you calm. Besides that, I like to listen to people. They all have such wonderful stories.”

Wilbur studied Eret. He reminded him a bit of how he’d been when he’d first set out but much calmer; interested in other people and their stories, yet without any of the high energy, extroverted tendencies Wilbur was prone to in the right social situations. He felt oddly reassured by the other man's presence. If one of Dream’s cohorts had found him—or gods forbid, Dream himself—Wilbur wouldn’t have likely been so calm and willing to cooperate. But something about this stranger made him relax, made him let down his guard. He almost felt like a normal twenty-four year old again, instead of someone who’d become a dad far too young.

“Well, like I said earlier, Tommy’s my little brother,” he started. “He’s loud and always seems to have endless amounts of energy. He can climb any tree he wants to, has a fondness for cows for some reason, and never ever gives up, no matter what the challenge is he’s facing. He’ll get knocked down time after time again and he just gets up again, ready to go with a bit more fire in his eyes.”

“Sounds like he’s a determined fellow,” Eret said, chuckling.

“Determined and stubborn,” Wilbur replied, laughing a little. “Tommy has the mentality that if he keeps running into a wall, either the wall itself will crack or his head will. But I sort of love that about him. Nothing will ever stop that kid. He could become something great, with that kind of attitude. Or he’ll get too impatient to try.”

“Has he always been like that?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Dunno. I found him in the middle of the woods, trying to scam my daughter into buying this rabbit foot off of him for some reason. He’s lived with me ever since.”

“What’s your daughter like?” Eret said, tilting his head to the side.

Wilbur smiled. “Much quieter than Tommy. She used to be much more outgoing, running around all over the place to ask me to pick her up or play games with her. Recently though, she’s become a bit more withdrawn. I don’t know if that’s because we have two new people living with us or what. But she seems to get on well enough with Tommy and Tubbo, so I don’t know if that’s the reason or not.”

“Is she like her mother?”

“A little bit. She takes after her, hair-wise. Both of them have this brilliant red hair that makes much more sense on Fundy than it ever did on Sally. And they’re both playful, Fundy more so. I suspect the fox part has something to do with that.”

“She’s a fox hybrid?”

“Yes. My father had functional wings and Sally was a salmon hybrid herself. Fundy’s more fae than I am. Which makes life... _ interesting _ to say the least.”

“Interesting?” Eret raised an eyebrow.

“She just...grows so quickly,” Wilbur said in a rush, unsure if he’d ever get the opportunity to talk about his own misgivings with his daughter's rapid growing, how stressed and confused he was most of the time. Eret was the first person around his age he’d met in a long time that he hadn’t outright disliked. “It’s the fae part of her, y’know? And I wouldn’t change her for all of the diamonds in the world. But it worries me, how quickly she’s growing up. I’m torn between wishing she’d stay small forever and worrying that growing up so fast might cause some irreparable damage to her that I can’t help or fix.”

Eret nodded slowly, looking like he was deep in thought. “I can see how that would be stressful.”

“I love her with my whole heart, my entire being,” Wilbur added. “But I’m only one man. I don’t know anyone like Fundy, someone who’s fae enough to have such animalistic characteristics all of the time. What if she develops some strange powers and hurts herself? I don’t know what I’ll do then.”

Eret didn’t reply, too deep in thought. A crease had appeared in between his eyebrows, the only indicator Wilbur had to go off of aside from his pressed-together lips.

“If you’d like,” Eret said slowly. “I could take you back to your lands when you’re a bit better and stay there. Just to provide some sort of support for you. It sounds like you have your hands full with Fundy and Tommy and it might be nice to have someone closer to your age.”

Wilbur blinked. “You’d do that?”

Eret smiled. “Sure! I’ve been on the road for a long time. Might be nice to settle down with people instead of wandering so much.” In a softer voice, he added, “I uh, also might be able to help if Fundy develops any powers.”

Wilbur raised his eyebrows. “Really now?”

Eret nodded. He ducked his head and pushed his hair back behind his ear, revealing the pointed tip. Wilbur’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as he took it in.

“I have powers of my own,” Eret added. “Nothing dramatic like control over lightning or anything like that. But it can be helpful.”

“Ah.”

Wilbur struggled to find words coherent enough to ask what he wanted to know. But everything he came up with sounded too personal, too rude to ask a person who he’d just met. Eret was the first person since Technoblade Wilbur had seen with such sharp ears. Since Sally, really. The fact that Eret had none of the usual characteristics of a hybrid confused him more. He looked entirely normal other than the sunglasses concealing his eyes. None of his teeth were even the slightest bit sharper than normal, unlike Wilbur, who went out of his way to hide his own hybrid status from other people and pass as the vast majority of humans with only a few drops of hybrid blood in him.

“I can see that you want to ask what exactly I can do, but can’t figure out how,” Eret said, smiling. “Maybe I’ll show you someday.”

“Is that a promise?”

Eret’s smile widened. “Maybe.” He tapped a finger on his knee, a steady one, two, three beat that sounded almost like a heartbeat without the ‘and’. “I take it Tommy is like you then. Not a hybrid?”

Wilbur shrugged. “He’s got fae ears. And sharp teeth. But whether that’s because he’s a hybrid or because he’s a gremlin child is up for debate. His friend; Tubbo, has goat ears, but he doesn’t like for people to point that out. It bothers him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Eret paused. “What’s Tubbo like? You haven’t told me much about him.”

“A bit calmer than Tommy,” Wilbur said. “They can both be little hellions when they want to be. He’s very sweet, very smart. Knows how to get honey from a beehive without using smoke. If Tommy thinks as he’s talking, Tubbo thinks  _ before _ he starts talking. They compliment each other well.”

“I take it Tubbo is the one with the cool head, then?”

Wilbur shrugged again. “Honestly, I have no clue. Tubbo only came to live with us four or five days ago. I’m still getting a read on him.”

He paused for a moment and turned towards Eret, laying on his side. The effort of the movement made his stomach lurch and his head spun a little, but it cleared after a little bit.

“What about you?”

“What do you mean ‘what about you’?”

“What places have you seen, where have you been, y’know, that sort of thing. What’s your family like?”

Eret sat straighter in his chair. He hugged his arms to his chest and smiled without humor. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t really remember them.” The other man replied. His finger picked at a scab on his left elbow. Eret didn’t look like he was aware of doing it. “I’ve been to lots of different places. Seen lots of servers, some solo worlds. I’ve met lots of people on my travels. But the one thing I can’t remember is where I came from and who my family is. Or was.”

He added the last part as more of an afterthought, like it had only just occurred to him that perhaps he was alone entirely in the world without anyone to visit or go home to. Wilbur couldn’t imagine such a life. Even if his father and Techno had moved on from the home they’d shared once, he knew all he had to do was call for one of them and they would come. Perhaps that was the true mark of family, not the space they shared, but the fact that they came when asked and helped without pleading.

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur said, his voice soft.

Eret turned to him, a hint of a smile on his face. “Don’t be. You can’t miss what you can’t remember.”

“I have a hard time picturing a life like that,” Wilbur admitted. “Being alone for so many years...I don’t think I would’ve grown to be the man I am today if not for my father and twin.”

He thought of a flash of red hair, the sight of bright yellow eyes peeking up at him where a sharp-toothed smile followed soon after, impish yet soft. The smell of the river that sunk deep into his clothes and the songs he’d composed for her, day after day, both drunk on a love that never had the chance to change or peter out like so many other flames did.

“And Sally played a part in it too.”

“We’re all just community projects being built by the people closest to us,” Eret said. “Whether or not that building turns out alright in the end depends on a lot of things.”

Wilbur snorted. “Not going to lie to you there mate, that analogy was a bit shit.”

Eret laughed. “Can you think of anything better?”

“Absolutely. Help me sit up for a little bit so I look more dignified.”

The other man laughed again, tossing his head back. He got up from his chair and eased his left arm underneath Wilbur’s shoulder blades. Ever so slowly, he pulled Wilbur into a sitting position. He sat down where Wilbur had been laying before, sort of propping the other man against his body so he was more upright but he was still reclining. Wilbur took a few slow breaths, trying to calm his stomach once more.

He cleared his throat and pushed his hair back, ignoring the now-warm cloth that fell into his lap.

“We’re the masters of our own destinies,” he said in what he thought was a righteous tone. “But our stories are in part shaped by the people closest to us.”

He tried to hold the serious look on his face, but failed when Eret burst out laughing, nearly knocking Wilbur over.

“Oy!” Wilbur yelped.

“Sorry!” Eret straightened up again, still giggling. “Sorry, the expression on your face was just...something else.”

Wilbur smiled. “Glad you thought it was so amusing. Put me back down again, please?”

When Wilbur was settled back down in the bed, Eret, picked up his old cloth and poured water over it, squeezing it out so it wasn’t as soaked. He replaced the cloth and settled back into his chair.

“You should probably sleep,” he said. “It’ll help you recover faster.”

“I’m not very fond of sleeping,” Wilbur admitted. “Part of it’s probably got to do with stress.”

“If it helps any, I’m going to do everything in my power to get you back home as soon as possible,” Eret said. The corner of his mouth was curled up in a slight smile. It made Wilbur feel warm and comforted.

He stood up and dimmed the lantern that hung from the center post of the tent until it was mostly out, casting a thin layer of light on the tent. It almost reminded Wilbur of his soul lantern at home, except this one was orange whereas his was blue.

“I’ll stay up, to keep the monsters away,” Eret added. “So don’t worry about that either. They don’t really like to come near me.”

“Thank you.” Wilbur turned his head so it was to the side, cheek pressed into the pillow. “Good night, Eret.”

Eret sat back down in his chair next to Wilbur and smiled wider. He pulled out a book and leaned back a little.

“Good night, Wilbur,” he said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! i would've had this out yesterday, but then i had chicken and spaghetti and ranboo was streaming, so the two just spelled a recipe for disaster and i was very tired lmao. was i still up until 2 AM? absolutely.
> 
> anyhow, i hope you guys like this chapter! i honestly planned on introducing eret a bit later but then my brain went "introduce them early >:)" and i said "okay!" in a john mulaney voice. if you're wondering why eret is referred to exclusively by he/him in this chapter, that's because they haven't explained their pronouns yet to wilbur. she will soon! i just couldn't find a good spot to include it in this chapter, what with wilbur being sick with heatstroke. he should be in better health next chapter though!
> 
> anyhow, i wish you all a good night. and if you're like me and have been watching the ranboo stream, go drink some water and stretch :)


	6. The Trek Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for fundy's pronouns

The tent was empty when Wilbur woke up. Light poured in from the open flap at the end. The lamp had been extinguished. Wilbur’s shirt and socks lay on the chair next to the bed in a neat pile, his boots nearby on the ground. The tall man slowly sat up, cautious of the dizziness and the nausea that had followed him before. When he was done, the nausea was slight and his head only felt a little fuzzy. He sat there for a few minutes, breathing deeply. His lungs still felt like shit.

“Glad to see you’re awake.”

Eret had to duck slightly to get inside of the tent. In his arms, he had a couple of empty saddlebags.

“What time is it?” Wilbur said.

The other man smiled. “A little bit after noon. Don’t worry, I’m going to get you back home as soon as possible.”

Wilbur rubbed his head, threading his fingers through his fringe. “Could I have some water please?”

“Of course.”

Eret set the saddlebags on top of the chest closest to the entrance and walked towards Wilbur. He’d left the water jug out. A vial of healing potion stood next to it, glowing faintly. He handed Wilbur the glass and sat down on a clear spot on the chest, watching him drink it. This time, the glass was three-fourths full. Wilbur tried not to gulp it all down at once.

“Thank you,” he said when he was finished, handing the empty glass back to Eret.

Eret dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Do you think your stomach could handle the healing potion now?”

Wilbur nodded. “I don’t feel as sick anymore. Just a bit dizzy if I move too fast.”

He took the potion from the other man and uncorked the bottle. The liquid inside fizzled a bit, smelling of sweet glistering melon and the more earthy, hellish tones of nether wart. He drank the potion slowly, cautious of accidentally triggering the nausea again by consuming something a bit stronger than water. The liquid left a strange tingling feeling on his tongue and throat, lasting long after he’d swallowed. He drained the entire bottle. A surge of energy went through his body, making him feel more awake.

“It won’t be as effective as a regen potion,” Eret said, taking the empty bottle. “But I don’t have any ghast tears at the moment.”

“Oh, you could’ve asked me for some.” Wilbur pulled out the vial of ghast tears he had in his inventory. They sparkled inside, hardened teardrops that clinked against the glass when he shook it. “That’s part of the reason I was in the Nether to begin with.”

Eret blinked. “Oh.”

He put the ghast tears back into his inventory, smiling at Eret slightly. “What’s your plan for getting me back home, by the way?”

“I’ve briefly tamed a horse.” Eret gestured towards the saddlebags. “Fortunately, most of the supplies here are for building. I’ll leave them where they are and come back from time to time. I’ll move my more personal belongings to where you live. If that’s okay, of course.”

“No, no, that’s fine!” Wilbur held up a hand. “I’m not sure how much space we have in the van since Tubbo moved in but we’ll make it work until something more permanent can be built.”

“I could always bring my tent with me.”

“There’s no need for that, I’m sure we can find room.”

“If you insist.” Eret rubbed behind his head. He appeared to be thinking hard about something. “By the way, I never got to mention it last night, but I uh, I go by any pronouns.”

“Oh?” Wilbur blinked. “Are you genderfluid or something like that?”

“Not...entirely. I...I don’t really know what I am?” Eret’s voice went slightly higher. “I just know I go by any pronouns and I like to wear feminine clothing sometimes.”

“Okay.”

Eret raised his eyebrows. If Wilbur could see his— _ their _ , Wilbur corrected himself—eyes, he imagined they’d probably be wide.

“That’s okay with you?”

Wilbur shrugged. “I don’t see why it’d be a problem. Gender and shit is complicated, it’s not my job to say what you can and cannot be, you know?”

“Sorry,” Eret ducked their head. “that’s not really the reaction I get from people when I tell them.” They rubbed behind their head again. “I’ve had a few hostile interactions in the past from small villages I’ve visited. It wasn’t pleasant.”

“Well, you won’t have any of that here,” Wilbur promised. “Even though Tommy might ask you a few questions about it, he’s not going to be rude—well, I shouldn’t say that because the child’s manners are horrendous at best—but he’s not going to be aggressive about it. Nobody will treat you any differently because of it.”

“Oh.” They smiled a little. “Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t thank people for the bare minimum, but you’re welcome.”

Eret cleared her throat. “Do you want to get going?”

Wilbur nodded. “Just let me put my shirt on. I might need a bit of help getting up.”

“Of course.”

Wilbur leaned over to the chair and pulled his sweater over to him. It was still slightly smudged with soot from the Nether trip. He moved slowly, slipping his arms into the sleeves and pulling the rest down. He pushed his fringe out of his face. Then he pulled his socks on and slipped his boots over them, tying them quickly. He brushed his hands over the sweater, smoothing it out against his chest. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as wrinkled as he’d expected it to be.

“All set?” Eret said.

Wilbur nodded. “I think so. Everything important should be in my inventory, unless you have my sword. I didn’t see it around the tent.”

“Sorry, I think I left it in the Nether.”

“Oh.” Wilbur found himself blinking rapidly. His face felt a bit hot and his chest felt tight.

“I’m sorry,” Eret repeated.

“No. It’s...fine. Well, it’s not really fine, but there’s not much you can do about it.” Wilbur looked up and held his arms up. “Shall we get this show on the road?”

Eret bit his lip, but knelt down and wrapped his arm around Wilbur’s back, pushing Wilbur’s arm around Eret’s shoulder. They both began to stand up slowly. Wilbur found that while his legs felt wobbly and like they were made of slimeballs, he could put weight on them with Eret supporting him. They shuffled out of the tent with Eret pushing aside the flap, exposing Wilbur’s face to the sun for the first time since he’d gone to the Nether the previous morning.

The grass in the small campsite Eret had set up was trodden down into well worn paths. A campfire had been doused recently, the wood still smoking ever so slightly. A skittish gray mare was tied to a short post, tugging at the lead that bound her in place. She’d had a saddle placed on her and eyed the two hybrids with wary eyes.

“I’m not incredibly good with animals,” Eret admitted, their voice a low rumble near Wilbur’s ear. “So I deeply apologize in advance if this all goes horribly wrong.”

“I feel like it’d be pretty on par for us to get our asses tossed off of a new horse,” Wilbur said, laughing slightly. “Knowing my luck, it’s probably going to happen.”

“I’m hoping not. I don’t really want to add to your injuries.”

With no small amount of difficulty, Eret helped Wilbur into the saddle, bringing a stump over to him to serve as a step ladder and frantically darting to the other side of the horse when the taller man threatened to topple over. Once he was properly situated in the saddle, Eret went back into the tent to retrieve the saddlebags, presumably full of materials she wanted to bring with her on the trip. They hooked them to the saddle, tightening straps with ease that suggested they’d done it before, despite the obvious unease around the mare. Once they were sure the saddle and the saddlebags were secure, Eret pushed themselves up onto the saddle behind Wilbur, hooking his feet into the stirrup.

“Are you okay?” Eret asked.

“Absolutely bloody perfect,” Wilbur replied, wincing as his stomach lurched a bit.

The light was beginning to give him a headache and he was trying his best not to think about the iron sword left in the Nether fortress. His father had made him the sword as a gift before he’d set out, encouraging him to upgrade when he had the materials for it. He made a mental note to search for the necessary materials needed to make a new sword. In largely unsettled lands like this server, going without a weapon was suicidal.

“Feel free to lean against me if you need to,” Eret added.

They’d untied the mare before getting on and were now guiding her with the lightest touch of the reins to begin walking at a steady but smooth pace. Wilbur squinted at the forest ahead of them.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” he said.

He could feel Eret shrug behind him.

“Not really,” she admitted. “But I have a feeling it’s somewhere past the Community House, right?”

“Southwest to be exact, but yeah. Don't worry, I know how to get there.”

“I would hope so,” Eret remarked.

Wilbur snorted softly. He leaned a little against Eret’s chest, trying to keep his head tilted to the side so he wasn’t blocking their vision. The horse seemed much more at ease now that they were walking towards someplace. He couldn’t tell if she just didn’t like standing still or had a genuine problem with Eret. Technoblade had possessed similar mob-like qualities before. Before the piglin hybrid had relaxed into life in the cottage, Wilbur would occasionally wake up due to the instinctual fear response his body had from sleeping near someone who was part hostile mob. He’d worked past it and Techno had learned to relax, but he could recall many sleepless nights of sitting up late with a book, trying desperately to find something to do if his body wouldn’t let him sleep.

He hadn’t had any difficulty falling asleep with Eret next to him last night. Not being able to see their eyes bothered him still, but less so than Dream’s uncanny way of walking through the forest as if he wasn’t really there. Wilbur’s mind spun as he tried to pinpoint what exactly Eret could be, churning out possibility after possibility. He immediately turned away the idea that Eret could be some sort of dog or cat hybrid. His teeth were too normal for that. He couldn’t think of anything else that inspired that kind of fear in other mobs but at the very least, it was entertaining to think about, even as they approached the Community House. Sitting on the wooden path with his feet dipping into the water, Sapnap looked up from where he was sharpening his sword at the sound of hooves approaching.

Wilbur felt his face tightening at the sight of the black haired man. Sapnap’s face remained neutral, only tilting his head to the side to study the pair as they walked by.

“Hey, Eret. Wilbur,” Sapnap said.

“Hello, Sapnap,” Eret replied.

“What the hell happened to you, Wilbur?”

“Heatstroke,” Wilbur said, his voice somewhat flat.

“Ah.” A look of understanding overtook Sapnap's face. “Too much time in the Nether?”

“Something like that.”

“You should try to be more careful about that. Not all of us can be Nether-born.” The other man smirked a little and turned back to sharpening his sword.

Eret and Wilbur continued through the Community house, ducking slightly to keep from hitting their heads on the ceiling. Once they were clear of the structure and far enough away from the lake, Wilbur relaxed and tried to enjoy the cool breeze against his face.

“I take it you’re not friends with Sapnap?” Eret said.

“Not really.” Wilbur shrugged. “I keep to myself and the Camarvan, Nether trips excluded. I don’t really know much about him other than that he’s friends with Dream.”

She hummed behind him, the vibrations going through Wilbur’s shoulder blades. “Am I still going the right way?”

“You’re going to want to turn right a bit when we come to this long lake, but yes, you’re fine.”

They continued on in mostly silence for a few minutes, the only sounds coming from the horse and the birds singing to each other in the branches high above their heads. Wilbur made note of the flock of wild sheep grazing nearby, a pack of wolves hunting them stealthily from the underbrush. Mobs in this area tended to linger, hanging around trees that offered them shade. Wilbur never wandered this far away from the Camarvan if he could help it.

“Last night, I noticed you refer to your daughters mother in the past tense,” Eret said suddenly. “I know it’s none of my business, but I wondered why? Is she...you know…”

“Dead?” Wilbur said bluntly.

“I mean—”

The taller man laughed a little, leaning against Eret. His throat felt a bit sore still and he wanted another drink of water, but it felt good to laugh, even if his insides twisted painfully at the thought of Sally, like they often did. Memories of her brought him both great comfort and great torment when he stopped to think about her for any length of time.

“She’s not dead,” Wilbur said, forcing confidence into his voice. “I sorely doubt many things could kill her. She’s just not here anymore, that’s all. She doesn’t live with us.”

“Any particular reason why?”

He shrugged. “About a month after having Fundy, we laid down in bed with her between us one night. I remember talking to her about building a proper house to raise Fundy in and she raised concerns with me. See...Sally was accustomed to living in water most of the time. She looked like a mermaid or she looked like a full-on salmon, very rarely did she don legs. I remember her mentioning before that it hurt to be away from the water for too long. But I didn’t care if she had to spend most of her time in the river, just as long as she was with us.”

“Ah.”

“Apparently, something I said bothered her. Or perhaps there was trouble in the night when she went to return to the river for a quick dip. She left some gold behind and I never saw her again.”

“No note?”

“Nope.” Wilbur focused his eyes on the ground, trying not to remember how he’d searched for her everywhere, calling her name long after his voice had gone hoarse. “No note, no explanation. No body, either. I assume she returned to the river and is out there somewhere.”

“I hope she is.”

Eret sounded sincere when they said it, something Wilbur wasn’t very used to. Many people offered him condolences when he’d spoken of Sally, or pitying looks. Some looked at him strangely. But Eret seemed content to keep it at that, and not to argue that she was likely dead or question why he’d fallen for someone so obviously fae in the first place. Wilbur appreciated that, a spot in his chest warming considerably when he remembered Eret would be living with him and the others.

“Should be coming up on a bridge soon,” Wilbur said, choosing to keep his thoughts to himself again. “Well, a bridge of sorts. It’s not very well constructed. I’d like to get something better up when I have enough resources and time someday.”

“I could help,” Eret offered.

“I’d appreciate that.”

Once the mare had plodded across the four logs bound with rope that Wilbur had generously called a bridge, he could recognize the trees again. They passed by the tree that had contained Fundy’s trap. The ropes and pulleys still lay in disarray. They passed a particularly large oak tree Wilbur had carved his name into the minute he’d found the territory he’d wanted to live in. When they finally came into the clearing he called home, he felt the tension finally leave his shoulders.

“We’re here,” he said quietly.

Eret slowed the horse to a stop once they were next to the picnic table. The inside of the Camarvan looked dark and lonely, the opposite of what it usually was. Wilbur frowned. He felt Eret get off behind him, pulling a lead out of their pockets and attaching it to the horse's bridle before tying the mare to the picnic table. She reached up and helped Wilbur down, locking her arms around him as she had before.

They made their way to the van slowly, only for the door to slam open. Wilbur had enough time to take in a blonde and brown head respectively before both boys launched themselves into his arms, crying “Wilbur!” loudly. He grunted at the impact, arms going up to keep his already unsteady balance. Eret did their best to compensate, shifting their feet slightly to accommodate the new weight though they looked a bit strained.

Tentatively, he lowered his arms to return the hug he’d been forced into. He noticed neither of the boys had changed out of pajamas and looked like they’d only woken up recently, their hair sticking up in every direction.

Tubbo was the first to move away, smiling sheepishly at the older man as he rubbed his head. His goat legs—which Wilbur hadn’t even been aware of as the young boy tended to change long after Wilbur had retired to his bed for the night—were exposed to the afternoon sun. He scratched the ankle of his left leg with one cloven hoof, looking uncertain and perhaps even a little afraid after being exposed.

Tommy clung for far longer, his face buried into Wilbur's sweater. Wilbur patted the younger boy's head, combing his fingers through the tangled and somewhat greasy strands like he often did for Fundy right before she fell asleep. The gesture seemed to remind Tommy of something, and he shoved himself away, glaring at Wilbur with eyes that looked suspiciously red.

“What fucking gives, eh?” he snapped, voice full of all the flint and fire Tommy normally reserved for particularly difficult lessons. “Where the fuck were you?”

“I got heatstroke from the Nether,” Wilbur replied, purposefully keeping his voice calm. “But I’m back now, obviously.”

“What kind of fucking moron gets heatstroke from the fuckin’ Nether? We were waiting for you and waiting for you and you just—you just  _ never _ fucking showed! And then Tubbo and me had to make fuckin’  _ soup  _ for dinner and Fundy was upset and—”

“Did you at least use the right pot for the soup?”

Tommy blinked. His hair looked like it was bristling, similar to the way wild animals looked when they were angry. Of course, it could’ve just been the way Tommy was standing that gave that illusion.

“Did I fucking—” Tommy shouted, then stopped himself. He started again, still loud, but not the guttural yelling from before. “You are a right bastard, you are, Wilbur Soot.  _ Fuck  _ you and your fuckin’ ‘did you use the right pot’ bullshit.”

Both of them stood in front of each other, engaged in some unspoken battle of eye contact. Wilbur; mostly calm but tired, Tommy; bristling like a pissed off cat with his fists clenched by his sides. Tubbo was fidgeting behind Tommy, shifting from hoof to hoof. Wilbur could feel Eret’s tension from where he was pressed against the other’s side. It was Tommy who broke eye contact first, lowering his blue eyes to the dirt at their feet.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. In a softer voice, he added, “I just...I thought you were dead. We all did.”

Wilbur stared at Tommy, feeling oddly touched that he had cared so much after all. That Wilbur wasn’t just a source of free food and materials.

“Well,” he said, his voice light. “It’ll take a little bit more than some heatstroke to kill me.”

Tommy snorted, kicking the dirt. The clearing fell into something closer to the comfortable silence it usually contained, though the tension was still there.

“Who’s that?” Tubbo said, pointing towards Eret, who miraculously hadn’t left Wilbur’s side the entire time.

“Oh.” Wilbur turned towards Eret, smiling. “This is Eret. They’re going to be living with us from now on.”

“Hello,” Eret said, smiling slightly.

Tommy yelped. “Holy fucking shit, why does your voice sound like that?”

They shrugged, still smiling. “It just does.”

Tubbo tilted his head to the side. “Why are you wearing sunglasses?”

“I’m sensitive to the light.”

The quiet boy nodded his head as if that explained everything. “Makes sense.”

“Where the fuck are we going to put him, Wil?” Tommy demanded. “Me n’ Tubbo aren’t giving up our booth beds, if that’s what you think is going to happen!”

“Relax, Tommy,” Wilbur said, raising his free hand. “If worse comes to worse, I’ll just make another mattress and put it in my little curtained off space on the floor. We can build some sort of temporary shed for the chests. We can figure it out.”

Tommy looked at Eret with narrowed eyes, but crossed his arms and headed off in the direction of his carrot patch. Tubbo lingered for a few minutes more, studying Eret closely.

He shot the newcomer a smile that—if a bit nervous—seemed genuine—and said, “It was nice meeting you!”

He then wandered off after Tommy, trotting slightly to catch up. Wilbur blinked at the strange sight. He would probably have to have a conversation with Tubbo about it later but for now, all the older man wanted to do was tuck himself into bed and see his daughter again.

“I’m assuming that was Tommy and Tubbo?” Eret said from his side.

“Er, yeah,” Wilbur replied. “Tommy was the one shouting.”

“I gathered that,” they replied dryly.

Wilbur laughed. “He only has one volume. Sorry about that. Can you help me get into bed? I’d very much like to lay down and be with my daughter for a bit, if it’s alright with you.”

“Oh. I understand. Come on, let’s get you in there.”

The metal stairs were a bit more complicated to manage with an extra person trying to get in at the same time. After all, the entrance was designed for a single person to enter and exit, no matter how many times the boys had done the exact same thing before. The lantern hanging over the dining table had been brightened considerably, casting light over the kitchen and through the doorway that led to the back of the van. Eret guided Wilbur through the second doorway where the van became much darker. Fundy’s bed was empty, the blankets laying in a jumbled mess. The curtains to Wilbur’s sleeping space had been pulled back some and he could see the vague outline of a small figure curled up into a ball on the mattress.

Fundy’s fox face was pressed into the stuffed orca he’d brought with him from home. Every now and then, she sniffled, but it was clear to him the young hybrid was asleep, though how she had slept through Tommy’s yelling was beyond him. He could see two indents in the blankets that suggested two other people had been sharing the bed with her, curled around her protectively even as they’d clung to each other during the night. Wilbur felt his heart warm further at the thought of Tubbo and Tommy choosing to comfort Fundy as best as they could even when they both were probably scared as well. He made a mental note to put more of an effort forth in teaching them things he knew as a way to repay them.

Eret gently eased Wilbur into a sitting position in front of Fundy’s back. He helped the other man get his boots off and pulled the curtains closer together before awkwardly standing there, unsure of what to do.

“I’m going to unpack my things,” Eret whispered. “I’ll come back at sunset.”

Wilbur nodded. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low.”

Eret dipped their head and headed back out the way they’d come, careful to not disturb anything that might wake the young fox hybrid up. As soon as the door clicked behind them, Wilbur gently turned over and laid behind Fundy, wrapping his arms around her as gently as he could so as to not disturb her. He pressed his nose into her hair, just in between her ears. He could smell the soap used to keep her hair clean, the berries she normally liked to snack on and the somewhat skunky-smell all foxes had that Fundy had inherited despite her fae origins. It didn’t sound like it would mix well together, but Wilbur had spent five years memorizing how his daughter smelled and the scent reassured him she was safe and alive in his arms.

Fundy twisted around in his arms, pressing her long muzzle into his sweater, which was already a bit damp from Tommy. He could feel the exact moment when she woke up because she let go of the orca and clung to him instead, tiny clawed hands digging into his sides. She was shaking, he realized, though whether from fear or crying, he couldn’t tell. He hugged her more tightly to himself and whispered reassurances into her hair.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “I’m here now. I promise. And I’m not going anywhere for awhile. Daddy’s here now.”

Realistically, Wilbur knew he’d have to get up at some point. He needed to drink more water. He needed to figure out what they would have for dinner with the limited supplies they had left. He needed to figure out where Eret would be sleeping for the night. He probably needed to have a talk with Tubbo over any outfit changes the younger boy might’ve wanted to make given the goat legs, but right now, all he wanted to do was lay in bed and hold his daughter.

Somewhere in between rememorizing the way she smelled and how small she felt in his arms, he thought he caught a whiff of the sea, the salty smell of the ocean that had always clung to Sally’s hair even when he knew it’d been awhile since the salmon hybrid had been there. But he dismissed it as wishful thinking, and pressed his cheek into the soft head of his very-much there daughter.

“I will do my best not to leave you again,” he mumbled into the air.

Whether or not Fundy heard it was up for debate, but the small promise settled Wilbur’s racing thoughts and calmed them just a bit. Maybe Sally was gone, but he wasn’t going anywhere. He was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you can ever so slightly tell the decrease in how much effort i put in editing as the chapters carry on, i apologize. it took me a good chunk of the week to write this and as usual, i finished it at a time when i really just wanted to sleep lmao. i might go back and fix any mistakes i catch, but for now, i just wanted to post this.
> 
> anyhow, i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! eret's honestly a fun character to write about and im looking forward to maybe eventually having their POV in future chapters :D i had to find an actual, labelled map of the dream smp in order to write the travel scene and im fairly certain i probably fucked that up somewhere along the line, given that the way i give directions is based purely on landmarks, which you would think would aid in writing things like this, but i also started watching during the exile arc so i have no idea what the dream smp looked like before everything was built. i know according to the most recent eret stream there was apparently a mountain somewhere near the flower shop i think??? and they tore it down???? but im a bit too busy to comb through the old VODs right now, so bear with me!
> 
> anyhow, i wish you all a lovely night :] please remember to drink water and dont stay up too late if you're up as late as i am. i know sleeping can be difficult sometimes, but its still good for you


	7. Building Foundations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for fundy's pronouns (but again, this shouldn't be for much longer)
> 
> also, an age reference since even i'm getting confused at this point:
> 
> Wilbur: 24  
> Eret: 21  
> Tubbo: 13  
> Tommy: 12  
> Fundy: actually 5, but because he's more fae, its more like 7

Thus far, Eret was enjoying the time they spent with Wilbur and his strange little family. The days were long, yet chaotic. It wasn’t uncommon to hear Tubbo and Tommy barging around the van and surrounding clearing, shouting at each other as they ran off into the woods to do whatever mischief two preteens could get into. Fundy was much more quiet and reserved, but she could be coaxed into shouting alongside the boys depending on the day and the task at hand. She often hid behind Wilbur when Eret came near, her fox ears flattening against her head, eyes cast low to the ground. She wasn’t sure why, but Wilbur reassured her Fundy just wasn’t used to strangers.

The van itself was often cramped. Wilbur hadn’t been kidding when he’d said they’d need to figure something out to make space. Eret’s current bed was the mattress from his camp on the other side of the lake. Together, he and Wilbur had pushed the curtain rod out a little bit more and shoved the mattress at the base of Wilbur’s bed. The older man now had to tuck his boots into a barrel towards the foot of the bed and Eret had access to almost all of the others he’d tucked under there to serve as a bedframe, but they both had slightly more privacy than the other three occupants, though that wasn’t much of a comfort to Eret, who was accustomed to solitude in general.

Fortunately, Eret was always the first one to rise. They’d gotten used to preparing breakfast in the morning, usually making something with eggs from the small chicken farm they’d created on their first true day. It provided a steady supply of protein for them all, something Wilbur was immensely grateful for.

The day felt like their new normal when Eret awoke to the sounds of early birds chirping, singing their songs to greet the warm light of the sun. They blinked their eyes open, rubbing the crusty bits that had collected at the edges away and stretched a little. Slightly above him, he could hear Wilbur softly snoring. The older man had likely passed out, twisted in his blankets again in the early morning, like he usually did. Eret sat up slowly, careful not to make too much noise and disturb him. Her fingers fumbled for her sunglasses, never far from reach, and placed them onto her face. The already dark room became darker with the tint, but Eret’s night vision was good, so they didn't worry about it.

They pulled out a fresh t-shirt for the day and slipped on a clean pair of jeans, taking note of the pile of unwashed clothes they needed to take care of at some point in the near future. Then carefully, he eased his way off of the mattress and into the rest of the van, careful to close the curtain behind him. Nearby in her own bed, Fundy looked very much like her father. She’d spread out and her mouth lay slightly open, a bit of drool collecting on the pillow. The tip of her tail twitched now and then, as did her feet.

_ She must be dreaming _ , Eret thought.

He crept over to the kitchen area, where it was a bit brighter. Nestled into two balls on their respective booths lay Tommy and Tubbo, each facing each other with their feet towards the isle. Even asleep, Tommy looked like he was getting ready to shout at someone, his blanket pulled up towards his shoulders leaving his legs and feet exposed. Tubbo was the opposite, the blanket covering his legs and feet rather than his torso.

Eret carefully cracked open the fridge and pulled out four eggs, setting them down on the counter. They went back into the fridge and brought out one more egg before closing the fridge behind them. Carefully, they lit the stove with a match from the matchbox they kept on a shelf too high for Tommy to reach and set the pan down on one of the lit burners, placing the cold kettle of coffee onto the second. They sliced a bit of butter onto the pan and moved it around as it melted, trying to coat the entire surface so the eggs wouldn’t stick.

She was halfway done with the first of the eggs when Tommy sat upright, his hair sticking up straight. The morning light made his blond hair look like it was spun out of gold, though it made the younger boy squint, as it went directly into his eyes. He yawned widely, showing off the sharp incisors that made Eret wary of ever being bitten by him. Tommy blinked and looked at Eret without saying anything. His blanket was still bunched around his shoulders.

“Good morning,” Eret said in a soft voice.

Tommy grunted in response. He swung his legs to the side so he was properly sitting in the booth, stretching his arms above his head. This was the only time of the day when Tommy was known to be quiet and still. Eret had a theory that the boy simply didn’t wake up until Tubbo was awake because he needed someone to be loud with.

“Would you like anything on your egg?”

Tommy shrugged, leaning his forearms against the table and resting his chin on top of them, his blinks slow.

Tubbo woke up around egg three when Fundy wandered into the room, dragging one of her blankets with her. She nudged the older boy’s leg with her knee, causing him to blink blearily awake. He scooted over at her request, keeping his legs covered with the blanket, though Eret’s keen ears could still pick up on the small click his hooves made as they made contact with the hardwood floor. Fundy leaned against Tubbo—yawning—and pulled her blanket more securely around her shoulders.

“Good morning,” Eret said to them, his voice slightly louder but still quiet out of consideration for Wilbur.

“Good morning,” Tubbo replied, his voice hoarse.

“Morning,” Fundy said, her voice quiet.

“Would either of you like anything on your eggs or to go with your eggs?”

“Berries, please,” Fundy replied.

Eret smiled. “Of course.”

She flipped the fourth egg over and went into the fridge to pull out the bowl of sweet berries and set out a small bundle on the empty plate. He eased the spatula under the egg again and eased it onto the same plate, then picked up two of the plates and set them in front of Tubbo and Tommy respectively. Then he picked up Fundy’s plate and set it in front of the young fox hybrid, turning back to the stove.

They heard Wilbur shuffle into the kitchen just as they were finishing the last egg, setting it in the space next to Wilbur. The taller man had dressed himself in another one of his sweaters and was carrying his boots and a pair of socks in his hands which he placed near the door. His curly hair was sticking up in the air, looking more chaotic than even Eret’s did in the morning. He picked up his yellow coffee mug and poured coffee from the now warm kettle into it. He sat down next to Tommy and focused on drinking his beverage before he spoke.

“Good morning, everyone.”

The children all chorused their good mornings, more alert and awake now that they’d eaten the eggs Eret had prepared for them.

“Good morning, Wilbur,” Eret said, smiling.

Wilbur drank deeply from his mug and set it down on the table, reaching for the fork and cutting a chunk of his eggs and chewing it slowly. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and yawned again, resting the tip of the fork on the edge of his plate.

“Do you lot know what you’re going to be doing today?” he said.

Next to him, Tommy shrugged. “Dunno. Me and Tubbo were going to hunt for bees ‘cause he wants to start gathering resources for a house at some point.”

Tubbo nodded, his goat ears flapping with the motion. “Yeah, we were going to get beehives! It’d be nice to have a constant source of honey instead of having to track down a hive, don’t you think?”

Wilbur smiled and nodded, cutting another piece of his egg, chewing it slowly.

“Fundy?” he prompted when his daughter didn’t speak up.

Fundy’s ears twitched a little. She looked up from her bowl of berries, the skin around her mouth stained a reddish-purple from the juice.

“Do you have any plans today, little fox?”

The fox hybrid took the Tommy Innit route and shrugged as well. She picked up another berry and rolled it around in her fingers.

“Can’t set up the new trap yet,” she said. She turned her ears towards her father, eyes big and hopeful. “Can I come with you?”

Wilbur shook his head. “Sorry, Fundy. I need to run a few errands and I can’t take you with me.”

Eret shot Wilbur a look, raising an eyebrow and pressing their lips together. Meeting Eret’s eyes, Wilbur rolled his own.

“It’s not going to be in the Nether,” he muttered.

“Good,” Eret replied.

She slid her egg onto her plate and walked over to the table, awkwardly standing at the empty spot at the side of the table. They didn’t have an extra chair for him to use and besides that, Eret didn’t care enough to make one. There wasn’t enough space for one in the already incredibly cramped van. Eret took their first bite of their egg, smiling slightly at the taste of rosemary they’d seasoned it with.

“Eret,” Wilbur said suddenly. He was twirling his fork between his fingers, a look of contemplation on his face. “Would you mind watching Fundy today? I normally have Tommy and Tubbo do the honors but...well, I suppose you’ve been here long enough and all that.”

Eret blinked. “Are you sure?” they asked.

Wilbur smiled. “Of course. I have no doubt you’ll be able to keep her safe.”

They took another bite of their eggs and chewed slowly before answering. It wasn’t that she had any objections to watching Fundy—quite the opposite in fact, Eret wanted everyone in the van to feel like she was a person they could go to if they were upset or needed help—but she’d gotten the impression Fundy wasn’t that comfortable with them yet. He didn’t want to push things if it meant damaging any possibility of having Fundy be comfortable with him later.

“I mean, I definitely can watch her,” Eret said slowly, keeping an eye on Fundy. “If that’s okay with you, Fundy?”

The fox hybrid blinked, unused to Eret addressing her directly.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she mumbled. With the claw on her thumb, she picked at something that had gotten stuck on the edge of the table and stared at it with great interest.

“Excellent,” Wilbur said, oblivious to his daughter's unease. “We can eat outside this afternoon for dinner before the sun sets, if you’d like. I know eating in here isn’t the best.”

“When are we going to make actual fuckin’ houses, Wil?” Tommy said, a whiny tone entering his voice.

“Soon,” Wilbur promised. “If you’d like, you can even begin to scout out places to build.”

Tommy’s expression brightened and he grinned widely. “Okay!” The blonde boy exchanged a look with Tubbo and then turned back to Wilbur. “Can we go now? We’re both done eating.”

“Sure,” Wilbur said.

He began to scoot out of the seat so Tommy could make it past, Fundy mimicking him on the other side. Eret scrambled to move back a bit. If they didn’t, Tommy would simply barrel over them and there’d be an even bigger mess. 

“Remember what I said about Dream though,” the taller man added.

Tommy and Tubbo were already halfway out the door by the time Wilbur had spoken.

“We will!” Tubbo called back to the van, closing it behind them.

They’d left their blankets in their seats. Eret wondered if they kept clothes in their inventory so they could change on their way out. Given how sensitive Tubbo was about people seeing his legs, it wouldn’t surprise her if he did, at the very least.

Wilbur took another long sip from his coffee mug, cutting the rest of his eggs up methodically with the side of his fork.

“What are you supposed to be getting up to?” Eret asked him.

“Oh, I wanted to get materials for concrete,” he said. “And some stone. For future building projects. Never hurts to have either of those things on hand.”

“No, it certainly doesn’t,” she said, nodding her head.

They ate the rest of their food in silence. Fundy slipped out of her booth and walked back to where her bed was, presumably to get dressed. The tension in the room lessened a little, but only slightly. Eret realized Wilbur was watching them, though he didn’t make it very obvious. The older man shoved his fringe out of his face again and leaned back in the booth, stretching his legs out.

“Did you have any plans I disrupted?” he asked.

“I think I was going to work on my castle today,” she replied. “But I don’t mind not working on it.”

“Oh, you’re building a castle?” Wilbur tilted his head to the side.

“Yeah, that’s what I was working on before I found you.” Eret smiled. “I thought it’d be a cool build.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Wilbur said. He sounded sincere. “Are we allowed to go to this castle of yours when it’s finished?”

“Of course! I couldn’t imagine it without you guys.”

Wilbur smiled. He picked up his plate and the others left on the table, stacking them together and scooted out of his seat. He walked the short distance to the sink and placed the dishes in there gently, then walked back to the table. Eret moved to the side slightly, turning their body so they could face Wilbur. The taller man grabbed his mug, took one last deep swig like he was drinking something stronger and sighed appreciatively.

“Thank you for the breakfast,” he said, adding the mug to the pile.

“It’s no trouble,” Eret replied. “I like making things.”

“Me too.”

Fundy walked out of the back of the van, tugging at the t-shirt she’d donned for the day and looked at the two adults expectantly. Wilbur knelt down and opened his arms, a soft look crossing over his face. Automatically, Fundy launched herself into her fathers arms, burying her face in Wilbur’s shoulder. They embraced for several minutes before Wilbur eventually let her go and stood up again, ruffling her long, russet locks.

“I’ll be back by sundown,” he promised. “Be good for Eret for me, will you, little fox?”

“I will.”

“Good girl.”

He tugged on his socks and boots and headed out of the door, closing it softly behind him. A silence settled over the van, a different one than the one Eret was used to in the mornings. A true silence. They looked down at Fundy, who was decidedly not looking at them, her eyes fixated on her father’s retreating form outside the window that was above the table.

“So,” Eret started, finishing the last of her eggs and taking the plate to the sink to be washed later. “Would you like to help me build my castle?”

Fundy frowned. “Why are you building a castle?”

The hybrid shrugged. “Because I want to.”

The young girl tilted her head to the side, finally looking at him directly for the first time that morning. “Why’d you come here if you were already building a castle?”

“Because I wanted to do that as well.”

She puzzled over that for a moment, pressing her lips together the same way her father did when he was confronted with something particularly challenging. Eret could recall how Wilbur had described Fundy to look a lot like her mother, but all Eret could really see was Wilbur; Wilbur’s nose and his eyes—maybe a bit more fae but still his—and a face that would someday perhaps match her fathers shape as it matured with the years. Her left ear flicked and she blinked up at him, leaning all of her weight onto her left leg.

“Let’s go then,” she said.

Eret found himself smiling. “Very well.”

The morning air was cool on Eret’s skin, cool enough to make him wish he’d grabbed some sort of jacket or asked Wilbur if he could borrow a sweater before he’d set off on his errands. Fundy looked mostly unbothered by the chill. She shoved her hands in her pocket and walked lightly through the forest, her shoes barely making any noise on the carpet of dead leaves from past falls. The two walked quickly to the hill Eret had set their sights on, close enough to the campsite they’d made when nursing Wilbur back to full health. Fortunately, no one was in the Community House when they passed through it.

The actual buildsite itself was nothing remarkable. Eret had set up scaffolding around where he wanted to build two towers with an arch between them and had made vague measurements for the actual castle itself, but the only sign the area had been claimed at all were the two double-chests full of materials he’d been gathering for weeks, non-stop, prior to joining Wilbur and the others in the Camarvan. Fundy immediately darted over to them and poked her nose inside, but quickly withdrew when she discovered it was full of stone, andesite and various woods.

“How long have you been building this?” Fundy asked.

“Maybe a month or so?” Eret said. “I wasn’t really keeping track of time before now.”

“My dad says he thought about building a house before we came here.”

“Oh?” Eret opened one of the chests and began pulling out the cobblestone she needed to smelt, digging around to find the coal she knew was buried in there somewhere. They couldn’t quite see Fundy, but they sensed she was still standing nearby, watching them.

“He said he didn’t because my mom disappeared,” she continued. “Have you seen her?”

“No, sorry.” He pulled his head out of the chest, arms full of cobble, and walked to one of the furnaces he’d stacked up and placed the materials inside carefully. “I’ve never met your mother. But I’m sure she was lovely.”

“My dad says I look like her.”

“I wouldn’t know either way.”

Fundy studies them for a moment, then sighs, her ears drooping. “I wish I could’ve met her. My dad says I did when I was a baby, but I don’t think that counts. Do you remember your mother?”

Eret shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. I don’t really remember much of my past.”

Fundy’s ears prick forward, suddenly curious. “How come?”

“Dunno. I think I’ve been alive for a long time. Or maybe the places I’ve been experiencing time differently. All I know now is that I’ve gotten better about keeping track of it since joining you.”

“I’m glad.”

Fundy says the statement so seriously that Eret glances back at her, eyebrows raised.

“My dad says it’s important to pay attention to time. He says my grandpa lived for a long time before he had him and that’s what made him start paying attention to time too.”

“Oh.” Eret wasn’t sure what to say to that. “That’s...good.”

“Mhm.” Fundy continued to look at him for a few minutes. Then she casually leaned into the chest he’d left open, reached inside, and pulled out a few pieces of coal. “Was this what you were looking for?”

“Oh! Yes, thank you, Fundy.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Could you watch the cobble for me? Let me know when it’s all been baked into stone again, I need to cut some of the stone I’ve already got into stone bricks.”

“I can do that.”

The fox hybrid walked to sit in front of the furnaces and sat with her legs pressed against her chest, tail curled so that it lay over her feet. Eret cast one last look at her before picking up two stacks of stone and walking over to the stonecutter. Carefully, he cut each individual bit of stone into bricks, gathering quite the collection in his inventory. They had planned to set down a foundation to have a better grasp of what they wanted to build as time passed. Stone was one of the easiest materials to gather, especially this early in a new world.

When they had cut as many stone bricks as they could, they walked back over to Fundy and the furnace, which was still glowing brightly.

“How’s the progress on that look?”

“Halfway done,” she replied. She wrinkled her nose. “Why does it smell so bad?”

“You need to add a special paste to cobblestone to get it to turn back into stone. At least, that’s the method most people use. I like to crush a bit of blaze powder in coal so the fire burns hot enough to melt the stone back into shape.”

Fundy’s eyes widened. “Stone can turn into a liquid?”

“If it’s hot enough, yes.”

“Is there any way to keep it that way?”

Eret shook their head. “I’m afraid not. The only way that could work is if you had a permanent source of that coal I mentioned and a fair amount of that coal tends to burn too quickly to make it last longer than a few minutes at most. But it’s useful for building.”

He surveyed the area, trying to figure out where would be best to begin his project before turning back to Fundy. She was fidgeting with a few strands of grass, fingers twisting them together into something that looked like it could become a rope if she had enough time for it.

“Fundy, would you like to help me get this foundation built?” he said.

Fundy frowned dubiously at the furnace, brow knitting together. “I’ve never built anything that wasn’t traps before.”

“That’s okay! I can teach you.”

Her ears pricked forward with interest. She tossed her grass to the side and got up, dusting her hands off on her jeans. Eret set out some of the stone bricks and gathered a stack of polished andesite out of the chest and placed one next to the stone bricks.

“This is what we’re using to build with,” they said. “Which one do you think would look better as a base?”

Fundy ran her fingers over each of the materials, biting her lip with a look of intense concentration. Eret tried not to wince at the slightly piercing sound of her claws against the polished andesite. She tapped the andesite with the tip of one black claw.

“This one would look best, I think.”

“Alright. Pick up a stack for yourself and we’ll get started then.”

They began to lay out the andesite carefully, piece by piece. Fundy couldn’t really lift the andesite once it was out of her inventory so Eret had to do much of the heavy lifting, but she didn’t really mind. They’d started the very first bits of one of the towers Eret planned on building when Fundy spoke again.

“I have a weird question for you,” she blurted. “Dad said I probably shouldn’t ask it but I want to.”

“I don’t mind being asked questions, Fundy,” Eret said gently. “Any and all. I’m happy to answer them if I can.”

“Okay.” Fundy kept her gaze planted firmly on the polished andesite between them, her hands gripping the edges of the stone tightly. “Dad said...you go by any pronouns. What does that mean exactly? You look like a boy but...but sometimes, you wear dresses? And all the people I’ve seen in dresses are girls.”

_ Ah _ , Eret thought to himself.  _ I wondered when one of them would ask _ .

Truth be told, Tommy had been the first to approach him while they were both out gathering wood together one day. The young boy had blurted the question out the same way Fundy had—though with admittedly less tact.

“So are you a girl then?” Tommy had said in a rush. “Or a boy?”

Eret had shrugged, adjusting his glasses so his eyes wouldn’t show.

“I don’t know,” he’d said. “I just know I don’t care what you refer to me by, as long as it’s polite.”

Tommy had frowned then, though not angrily. More like he was confused. “Don’t you have to be a girl if you wear a skirt though?”

Eret laughed. “No, Tommy, you don’t need to be a girl to wear a skirt. If you really wanted to, I could make you your own skirt. They’re quite nice to wear.”

The blond had thought for a minute about it, then shook his head, grinning. “Nah, I reckon I’ll leave the skirts to you, big man. I just wanted to know, that’s all.”

Fundy didn’t have the same quiet confidence around her that Tommy possessed, even while asking a somewhat personal question. Eret couldn’t tell if that was because she just wasn’t very confident to begin with or if there was something else going on.

“Is your question more about why I wear dresses or why I don’t mind being referred to as she/her?”

Fundy chewed on her upper lip. “Both.”

“Well, the dress one is simple: I like dresses. Sometimes, I just want to wear a dress instead of trousers and a shirt and that’s okay. You can do that no matter what gender you are.”

“Do you  _ have _ to wear dresses if you’re a girl?”

“Of course not. Just like you don’t need to wear trousers if you’re a boy. It’s all about personal preference and style—what  _ you _ want to do rather than what other people want. It’s hard to live that way sometimes though.”

Fundy nodded. Her ears were slightly lowered.

“As for the pronouns…” Eret trailed off. “I dunno how to explain that one. It’s more of a...a gut feeling, I suppose. I don’t care what other people refer to me as. Some people just refer to me as he/him, some she/her and others they/them. I’ve heard other pronouns too. It doesn’t matter so much to me.”

“Oh,” Fundy said. Her eyes were still lowered and her tail twitched. In an impossibly quiet voice, she said, “How’d you figure out which pronouns you didn’t mind so much?”

_ Oh _ , Eret thought to themselves, realization dawning on them.  _ Oh, I get it now _ .

In what she hoped was a casual tone, she said, “I asked people to refer to me by certain pronouns at first. And I practised in the mirror by saying stuff like, ‘My name is Eret, I go by they/them pronouns’. When nothing made me incredibly uncomfortable, I just...went from there.”

“Did people do as you asked?”

“Some of them.” Eret’s brow knit together as they thought of the less... _ pleasant _ interactions they’d had with other people across worlds. “Some were less than kind.”

Fundy’s ears drooped and she bowed her head.

“Oh,” she said in a tiny voice.

Eret turned to her and knelt in front of her, gently nudging her shoulder with his knuckles.

“Hey, not everyone is like that,” he promised. “I’m certainly not.”

Her doubtful expression didn’t change, but she didn’t look away from him for once. Her hands darted to her hair and tucked the ends of the long copper strands behind her ears.

“Come on,” Eret said, getting to his feet. “Let’s do a bit more building before we go back. Maybe we can even get more sweet berries before.”

Fundy’s expression brightened slightly, though she still seemed a bit uncertain. She pulled out another piece of polished andesite and set it in front of Eret grunting slightly. He smiled and picked it up, placing it next to another to complete the circle. They carried on with this rhythm and ritual—Fundy placing the andesite and Eret moving it to its proper place—until Eret finally declared it was time to go.

The entire time, the older man watched Fundy carefully. Somehow, something they’d said must have made Fundy relax a bit more. She’d tentatively begun to tell him about the spider trap she and Tubbo were designing together, going on and on about different string solutions the older boy was attempting to make with her. Though Eret didn’t know much about string, he was more than happy to listen to the young fox hybrid go over many of the trials and errors of the process. She found herself smiling down at Fundy, happy to have finally made some sort of connection with the youngest member of the strange family Wilbur Soot had made for himself in a tiny van in the middle of the forest.

_ I think I’ve done rather well today _ , Eret thought to themselves as they walked through the forest with Fundy, searching for sweet berries to take home for later use. They laughed as the young girl popped out of a bush with a few leaves stuck in her hair, fists full of clusters of bright red berries, a triumphant, sharp-toothed grin on her face.

_ Yes, I’ve definitely done well today _ , they thought, and headed over to the bush to help Fundy gather more for her inventory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like its very obvious to everyone here that i'm very much an american and i dont know much about british terminology despite watching a bunch of british twitch streamers and i also dont know much about how 7 year olds behave but its fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. fun fact about this chapter: it was intially going to be much longer but as i wrote this out, it just kept going and going and i didn't have the heart to cut out a lot of eret POV or even to spend more time writing this since i did this all in 2 days. school do be kicking my ass, unfortunately.
> 
> i do hope you guys enjoyed this chapter though! eret's POV was pretty fun to write even if i probably need to add to my character notes on them. (i also hope everyone's doing well after the lore streams we've been getting from tommy lately. hoooo boy, aren't those fun /lh). next chapter will probably be with tubbo and tommy!
> 
> i hope all of you are doing well and that you drink water and remember to get up and stretch for a bit :] if you're in bed reading this, then go to sleep! you probably have classes in the morning and believe me when i say you do *not* want to be tired for those


	8. Gathering Bees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for fundy's pronouns (they are still an unfortunate issue)

“Are you sure  _ this _ is the spot you want to build in?”

Tommy glanced behind him where Tubbo was kicking at the dirt of the small hill they’d found. They’d headed north from the Camarvan and climbed a larger hill in their quest to find beehives for Tubbo’s planned bee garden of sorts. Between the two of them, they had five hives together. Tommy had gotten stung at least four times trying to get the one in his inventory. He kept rubbing at the bee stings, only stopping when Tubbo swatted his hands away.

The hill in front of them could barely be called a hill. It was more like a dirt lump the earth had offered up to rest atop the bigger hill’s head. The grass grew long and waved gently in the wind. Tommy leaned over and patted the untouched soil. It felt slightly damp beneath his palm. Maybe it had rained a little last night.

“This is a perfect spot,” he said. “I could have cobble floors ‘n shit.”

“Why would you want to live in a hill if we finally get to build our own houses?” Tubbo said.

“Because it’ll look fuckin’ cool.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. He tugged on Tommy’s sleeve and began to walk towards the other hill to their right, kicking his sneakers off so his cloven hooves could get a better grip on dirt and stone beneath them.

“Why do you keep wearing those things around the van, by the way?” Tommy said. He walked much more cautiously than his friends, wary of the slippery nature of rocks and cliffs.

“What’d you mean?”

The blond boy gestured vaguely at Tubbo’s legs, holding his hand against the side of the cliff so he didn’t lose his balance.

“Your legs,” he elaborated. “You hide them. Why?”

“Oh. Uhh, I didn’t want people to know about them. You know how other servers can get.”

“But no one cares about whether or not Fundy’s a hybrid. And she’s pretty noticeable.”

Tubbo shrugged. He was close enough to the ground to hop down the rest of the way. Tommy was still a bit higher up, trying to figure out how to get down without breaking his neck.

“Try to the left. There’s a foothold near your toe that might work.”

Tommy scowled, glancing down and realizing Tubbo was correct. He moved his foot and eased the rest of his body down.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

The brunette sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I just want to be cautious,” he said. “I’d rather be cautious than stupid about it.”

Tommy frowned. “Wilbur’s not gonna let anything happen to you, Tubs. He wouldn’t let anything happen to any of us.”

Tubbo shrugged, scratching the back of his head again. He didn’t argue with Tommy but Tommy knew him well enough to know Tubbo was silently disagreeing even if he wasn’t going to say anything. Tommy huffed at him. If he had been standing on solid ground, he would’ve crossed his arms. He eased his body down a bit further, fingers digging into the rock.

“You know Wilbur’s not a wrongen, right Tubbo?” he said as he inched closer to the ground.

“Of course I know he’s not a wrongen!” Tubbo exclaimed. “I just don’t want this to be like Hypixel all over again.”

Tommy winced reflexively at the mention of Hypixel. Though the two boys had found each other a long time ago on the streets of a server they couldn’t remember the name of, their friendship had truly strengthened in the arenas of the well-known PvP server. Hypixel didn’t mind having children fight in their games—provided someone wasn’t obvious about it—but they were champions of the anti-hybrid campaign that had existed for centuries, a campaign that had only really had become more aggressive over the more recent years.

Tommy could remember how in one event, they’d watched a rabbit hybrid be forced to have their ears clipped, the moderators forcing a slowness potion down their throat in the name of ‘fairness’ no matter how much the hybrid had sworn up and down that they weren’t planning on doing anything with their unique abilities. He had always been the keeper of Tubbo’s status as a more obvious hybrid. The moderators hadn’t minded Tubbo’s ears much since goats were not well known for their hearing, but any mention of his legs would have surely promised similar treatment. And Tommy didn’t want anything bad to happen to Tubbo, not if he could help it.

“If you move to the left slightly, there’s three more steps down to the bottom,” Tubbo said.

The taller boy snapped back into the moment and did as Tubbo had advised. As always, he knew the best way to climb down a hill. He hopped down the final layer, grunting slightly at the impact.

“All set?” Tubbo asked.

Tommy nodded. Tubbo set his shoes down and tucked his hooves back inside, twisting them around until they were comfortably stuck in there and began to walk more slowly than the trot he sported without the shoes.

“Where do you reckon Wilbur’s been going lately?” Tommy asked. “Like with all the errands and shit.”

“I don’t know,” Tubbo said. “Maybe he’s working on his own house for Fundy and him?”

“But they live in the van. Wouldn’t  _ we _ move out first?”

“Oh. Yeah, probably.” He frowned, brow furrowing. “Maybe he’s getting into Nether mushroom farming? That could be a good business.”

“I don’t think he’s going to get into fucking mushroom farming, Tubbo.”

The corners of the goat hybrid’s mouth curved up into a small smile even as he ducked his head. “Well, you never know.”

Tommy shoved his shoulder, grinning a little himself. They were close to the Camarvan again and they could hear the distant clucking of the chicken farm and a voice that sounded somewhat like Fundy’s. The clearing was bright in the afternoon sun, the grass swaying gently in the breeze. The fox hybrid was sitting at the picnic table across from Eret, excitedly gesturing with her hands as she described something to the elder.

Tommy hadn’t known Eret very long, but Wilbur seemed to like him, so Tommy had tried to imitate his brother. He didn’t know much about Eret other than that they were a fairly good cook when given the materials to do so and that he liked to wake up super early in the morning. He’d tried to catch them without their sunglasses but hadn’t quite managed it yet.

The most interesting aspect to Eret aside from his bizarre accessory though—at least to Tommy—was how long and sharp his ears were. Tommy was accustomed to the basic standard of half-fae people, the people like him and Wilbur who had enough fae blood to change their ear shape and make them sharper instead of rounded like the standard humans. He was even used to people like Fundy and Tubbo; people who constantly displayed animal traits because they had no choice and were considered “true” hybrids. He’d never met anyone like Eret, who’s ears would’ve almost matched Enderman if he hadn’t looked so human.

True fae didn’t exist anymore. And if they did, they’d hidden themselves well. Wilbur had said Philza was the closest he’d ever seen to the ethereal beings of olden times, but even he was capable of meeting death if he wasn’t careful.

“What is up, bitches!” Tommy shouted, switching into a jog.

Eret jerked backwards slightly, nearly falling off of their bench. The only indication Fundy gave that she had heard the older boy was the flick of her left ear and a momentary glance in his direction before she turned back to Eret and continued talking. Tubbo followed behind, much more slowly as he attempted to keep his shoes from falling off.

“How did your bee hunt go?” Eret said.

“It went fucking fantastically, of course.” Tommy summoned the beehive from his inventory and held it in his hands, showing it off proudly to the elder. “Check this out, bitch.”

Eret nodded approvingly, smiling. Then he noticed the bee stings covering Tommy’s hands and arms and adopted a worried expression.

“Did you get hurt?” he said, frowning.

“It’s just a few bee stings. I’m a big man, I can handle this.”

Eret was already getting up from the bench and ducking into the van. Fundy stopped talking mid-rant just as Tubbo was sitting down next to her. A look of hurt flashed across her face. Tommy put the beehive back into his inventory and sat across from Tubbo, wincing slightly as the bee stings on the underside of his arm dug further into his skin. Eret came back outside a few minutes later, carrying a small, glass jar full of something brown that looked like mud.

“What’s that?” Tommy said, eyeing the jar suspiciously.

“Mud.” At the incredulous look Tommy gave them, Eret laughed a little and explained further. “You put mud on bee stings to make them hurt less. I’d try ice, but we don’t have any of that right now. May I see your arm?”

Grumbling under his breath slightly, Tommy held his arm out. Eret held it loosely in his hand, setting the opened jar of mud on the table and dipping his fingers inside. They pulled out one of the stingers, setting it onto the table, and smeared an even coat of mud onto the red area. It felt cool on Tommy’s skin.

“Better?” Eret said after he’d smeared mud over two more stings.

Tommy kept his eyes trained at the ground.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

Another thing he didn’t understand about Eret: his incessant generosity. Eret was the first to offer their services if Wilbur ran out of wood or coal, the one who purposefully made sure to keep some sweet berries in the fridge for Fundy at all times. Knowing Eret, he’d listened to Tubbo talk about bees and decided to stock up on mud just in case someone got injured. It made Tommy’s head hurt to consider what it must have cost them to do so much for everyone else without expecting much in return.

Eret smiled. “You’re welcome.”

He closed the jar of mud and set it off to the side, turning back to Fundy.

“Sorry. Refresh me on what you were talking about, please?”

The young fox hybrid’s ears perked up again.

“I was just saying that I think a floating net trap for spiders wouldn’t work as well as it does on skeletons.” She pressed her lips together. “But I’m not sure what else would work.”

“You could try using a spider spawner if someone ever finds one,” Eret suggests. “I’m sure that would be much more effective.”

“Maybe. But we don’t know where one is.”

“Why’re you so dead set on getting fucking spiders anyhow?” Tommy said.

“String is a very important material for almost everything. And it’s easier than hunting sheep for their wool.”

“Sheep are safer though,” Tubbo pointed out. “I bet we could go out and collect a bunch of sheep in a pen so we’d have easier access to wool.”

“Well, I don’t want to sleep next to a bunch of noisy fucking animals,” Tommy shot back.

“I might keep sheep when my castle’s done,” Eret said, their voice mild. “It’d be useful.”

“But you can’t get string from wool, which is my point,” Fundy said. “String is just much more versatile. You can spin it into wool or just use it as it is.”

Tubbo tapped his chin with his fingers. “She has a point.”

“Maybe it would be better to just settle on wool for now?” Eret said. “Just until we can worry about more sophisticated farms. We all live in one van right now, it won’t hurt us to keep foraging like we have been.”

“Well, I want to plant some flowers near the beehives,” Tubbo said. “So they can get their pollen and help the crops grow.”

Eret’s expression brightened. “I think I have some flowers I picked up in my supplies chest back near my castle if you’d like me to grab them tomorrow?”

Tubbo grinned. “I’d love that, thank you!”

“Are we going to work on the castle again tomorrow?” Fundy said.

She tipped her head to the side so one ear was pointed up while the other flopped down.

“Maybe. Depends on if Wilbur has plans or something along those lines.”

“If I have plans for what?”

They all turned to see the oldest of them walking towards them with a smile on his face. His sweater was somewhat crooked and he had coal smeared on the side of his cheek, indicating he’d been mining, but he looked pleased to see them again. Fundy launched herself off of her bench and ran directly into his legs, burying her face into his stomach with a grin plastered on her face. Automatically, Wilbur’s arms went around her to embrace her, his left hand coming up to ruffle her hair.

“Hello, little fox,” he said, smiling.

“Hello Wilbur!” Tommy said loudly. “We are also here, bitch.”

The older man rolled his eyes but still wore a fond smile on his face. He crouched down and scooped Fundy up into his arms, tucking her into his side like he always did, and walked towards the picnic table.

“It’d be pretty hard to not acknowledge you’re here, Tommy,” he said dryly. “You’re fairly loud.”

Tommy scowled. “Fuck you.”

Wilbur laughed a little, reaching over and ruffling Tommy’s hair the same way he’d done to Fundy. Tommy tried not to let it show on his face how much the gesture warmed him by scowling more. The older man nudged Tommy over on the bench a little, sitting with his back against the table. He tightened the arm he was supporting Fundy with and let out a contented sigh, closing his eyes for a bit.

Without opening them, he said, “I trust you found your bees?”

“Yeah!” Tubbo said, grinning widely. “We actually found five of them. Tommy’s got one of them in his inventory.”

Wilbur glanced at Tommy and raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you’re covered in bee stings?”

“Not everyone can be the fucking Bee Whisperer like Tubbo over there,” he shot back.

“Honestly, it’s fairly impressive Tubbo can handle bees the way he can,” Eret interjected before the two of them could start yelling. “I kind of wish I could do that.”

“Aren’t you a really good builder?” Wilbur pointed out.

“There’s always room for more skills to develop. And I enjoy learning new things.”

“Touché.”

A faint breeze picks up, ruffling everyone's hair. Fundy leaned into it, half closing her eyes and smiling. Wilbur gently knocked his head into hers, rubbing noses when she turned to look at him. Tommy allowed himself to sit still, trying his best not to fidget like he usually did and simply stay in the moment. The sun warmed his face and he felt a content mixture of happiness and freedom, sitting there with his little family. Sure, the van might’ve been cramped and stuffy, and Tommy would vehemently deny ever being so soft and sentimental if anyone asked, but no one could see inside his head.

And if he leaned a little into Wilbur’s side, causing the older man to nudge him fondly with his shoulder, then so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so how about that lore today, fellas?
> 
> gonna be honest, when i first started writing this, i wasn't too sure on what i was doing but now? i feel much better with the end result. just a bit of the clingyduo to keep the light mood. next chapter should actually line up moreso with the timeline, though im taking a bit of creative liberty with a lot of this simply because i can.
> 
> also, thank you for the kind comments and the kudos! i see them and i greatly appreciate them :] i might end up writing some one-shot's at some point simply because i want more of the marriage between c!tubbo and !ranboo (and michael, we cannot forget michael). debating whether or not to make a twitter or a tumblr so i can properly talk about my headcannons and AU stuff alongside character analysis since i really enjoy that but i'm not entirely sure if i should or not given my track record of being active on social media lmao
> 
> anyhow, i hope you all enjoyed this chapter even though it was a bit shorter than the last one! please remember to drink water and stretch a little if you haven't done so in awhile :]

**Author's Note:**

> just a general note for you all: i update when i get chapters done and often, its late at night. things will get uploaded as i finish them and if that means at 2 AM then you shall receive a 2 AM update :D
> 
> i hope you all enjoy the story, feel free to leave a comment or kudos!


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